"You seem more relaxed today, Raphael," Toshiro said thoughtfully, hefting a small smoke bomb in his hand. "The mission last night must have gone well for you."
"It was a mess, sensei," Raphael grunted, drawing back his arm to throw some small weighted balls. Toshiro-sensei had ordered him to learn how to throw properly before he could attempt the real thing. "But Master Shredder told me I fought well."
"Hmm," Toshiro said thoughtfully. "Is that the only reason you are in such a good mood?"
Raphael started to reply, but the words froze on his tongue. He had been on the verge of telling Toshiro about Mother, and his dreams of meeting her in the garden. That experience had settled his rattled nerves, and he had woken with a sense of peace that he hadn't experienced before — at least, not that he could remember. He had lain in his bed for awhile after waking up, remembering her soft voice and deep, dark eyes.
But for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to speak of her — even to his sensei. It felt like the illusion would dissolve if he mentioned that he was having dreams of a mother who couldn't possibly exist, and that she was the reason for his improved mood. So he shut his mouth firmly, and threw another weighted ball. Besides, he thought, Toshir0-sensei would probably think it was childish to dream of a mother he didn't even have.
"I had a — a good dream last night, sensei," he said at last. "It's nothin'."
Toshiro-sensei smiled slightly. "A dream about a woman, I suppose. You are very young, and the young often have vivid dreams," he said finally. Fortunately he did not ask what the dream had been about, and instead corrected Raphael's aim.
After the day's training was complete, Raphael showered and made his way to the dining hall, which was typically empty except for a small cluster of genin eating at a round table. They were speaking in hushed whispers, their eyes darting from face to face like conspirators.
Raphael frowned, and began moving towards the smaller table in the corner. But as he passed them, the word "Marino" floated past him, and he slowed down, his fingers tightening on the edges of his tray.
"… Rogers told me that Master Shredder already met with the don. He claimed that this Marino person acted without orders."
"Did he say why?"
"He said that Marino's nephew was killed by the Foot a few years ago, and he wants revenge. Some nonsense like that."
Raphael slid into one of the chairs at an adjoining table, and ducked his head down. He could hear them clearly now, and none of them seemed to notice his open eavesdropping — possibly because none of them thought enough of him to care.
"And all the others?"
"Others wanting revenge for past scuffles with the Foot. It was all a trap."
"What is Master Shredder demanding from them?"
"The tribute — the real tribute, plus Marino and all his followers. Alive, if possible."
One of the genin snorted. "They'll have to find him first. Even if the don is willing to give up one of his own, I bet Marino found a nice place to hide."
"The Foot can find him," a young woman with close-cropped black hair said. "He won't be able to hide for very long, especially with someone like Karai on his trail."
Raphael stared down at his plate, at the hamburger that was rapidly cooling there. His stomach clenched as he thought back to how he had almost gotten Marino — and even though Master Shredder hadn't been angry at him for the loss, he still felt the sting of his own failure, like a thorn embedded in his foot.
He still remembered Marino's mocking smile as he had departed, just after shooting at Raphael's face and barely missing. At least, he thought with a sense of bitter satisfaction, he had managed to strike the man with a shuriken before he got away. That was something, even if it wasn't much.
He snapped out of his thoughts just then, realizing that the conversation had fallen silent. The woman with the close-cropped hair was staring at him with an odd expression — half hostile, half frightened — while the man beside her was choking down his food as if he were trying to swallow everything on his plate whole. The others murmured amongst themselves, casting oblique sideways glances at Raphael that were meant to be unnoticed.
So they had noticed him there after all. Raphael wasn't sure which was worse — to be ignored completely, or to be noticed and shunned. He hunched over his lunch and lost himself in his thoughts as he ate, ignoring the whispers that floated between the others there.
They thought of him as a pet or a thing to be owned, and it bothered them when he did something of his own accord. They were wrong. One way or another, he would prove it — and he could do that by becoming a true ninja.
It haunted him as he made his way back to the dojo, his mind still seething with the previous night's events. There was only one thing he could think of that would help.
He burst through the dojo doors, and was surprised to see a thin figure kneeling in the middle of the floor.
"Sensei?" Raphael said, surprised.
Toshiro-sensei raised his bald head, and his dark brows lifted slightly. "Raphael? I thought you had left for the day."
"I did — but I came back," Raphael said. "I was thinkin' I would do some more practice today."
"Is there a reason for this?"
Raphael's eyes rose to meet his sensei's, a hint of defiance creeping into his gaze. "I—I wanna become a ninja as soon as I can," he said hesitantly. "I don't want to wait. I want to show 'em what I really am." His voice lowered. "And I wanna find Marino. I don't want to have failed the master."
Toshiro stroked his pointed beard, his eyes narrowing in thought. He studied Raphael for a moment — his clenched fists, his fierce gaze, the faint undercurrent of uncertainty in his voice — and sighed. Normally he would tell a potential ninja that "showing 'em" wasn't a good enough reason to embrace the life of a ninja. But Raphael had been destined for that life the moment the master had decided that he would be trained, and straying from that path could be lethal to them both.
For a moment, Toshiro wondered if he had done Raphael a disservice by not making it sufficiently clear that he had no choice in the matter — that Master Shredder controlled his destiny, his very life. He had been only a day old, mentally speaking, when his training began. He knew no other life. He knew no other fate. He didn't realize he was being trained not just as a ninja, but as a weapon.
"Very well," Toshiro said at last. "Normally I would say to a student that there is only so much training one can do in a day, that it cannot be forced too quickly or the training itself will suffer. But you —" He sighed. "You are not a normal student, Raphael. You learn too quickly for that to be true. So for an unusual student, I think unusual training methods will be used."
"Thank you, sensei."
"Don't thank me yet. This will be hard work, and you will have little time or energy for anything but training." The old man rose to his feet, and beckoned the turtle closer. "Let us begin."
