There is a ninjutsu tradition of using chakra to determine one's ideal life match. Shinobi families traditionally use the jutsu on their child's sixteenth birthdays. When performed correctly, the family crest of their soulmate appears on the sole of their right foot. After the identity of one's match is thus determined, the true fun can begin…
Kakashi's sixteenth birthday was a low point. Years of pain and loss gnawed on his heart like a disease. If asked, he would have said he performed the jutsu out of loyalty to his clan, the fain hope that the Hatake family was not yet extinct. In truth, he just wanted to feel less alone.
He felt the jutsu burn, and lifted his right foot. What would it show him? If his soulmate had no clan crest then the foot would reveal the symbol of their home country instead. This would make life harder (especially if he had inadvertently tattooed a hostile nation on himself), but at least he'd have a better chance of tracking them down.
It wasn't an enemy country, but the image gave him no comfort. After a few seconds of staring, he left his foot fall back to the floor with a dull thud. A maru symbol; a zero. His soulmate wasn't a ninja, wasn't even a clanless civilian. His soulmate didn't exist at all.
The minute the clock struck midnight on her sixteenth birthday, Sakura performed the jutsu. Hers was a low-level clan, and there was no great pressure nor expectation for her foot to reveal anything noteworthy. But she would show them all, because when she looked at the sole of her foot she would be sure to find an Uchiha fan there.
The dim light of her bedside lamp wasn't enough to make out the boxy shape on her foot, but she could see enough to know what it wasn't. Biting down on her dismay, she shifted herself closer to the light.
It was a symbol she didn't recognise: nine diamonds laid out so that they formed one large diamond. A foreign clan, perhaps. Obscure and relatively unremarkable, just like the Haruno clan.
"Of course," she murmured to herself, as if the mark on her foot were little more than a smudge and not the identity of her supposed soulmate. "Of course it isn't him."
She told everyone else that she had foregone the ritual. "It doesn't matter right now," she would say every time Ino or Naruto asked. "I'm focusing on my training instead."
Other birthdays came and went, and the teasing over Sakura's stubborn silence eventually subsided. September and October passed; Ino grew thoughtful, Naruto evasive. Sakura would catch him glancing at his right shoe during training and on missions, as if the jutsu were still burning him. The fiftieth time she caught him doing this, she confronted him.
"How bad could it possibly be?" She said, arms crossed. They sat around a fire deep in The Country of Rice. Sai cocked his head in curiosity, but Kakashi was deep in his book and pretending not to hear them.
Naruto gave an exaggerated start, then seemed to think better of it. "It's not bad," he said, crumpling back against the tree he leaned against. "It's just…confusing. I've never really thought about them like that. Don't get me wrong, they're a really impressive fighter," he added, blue eyes scrunched in consternation. "And I guess their hair is really pretty? But I'm not sure I'm…attracted to them, you know?"
"Well," Sakura bit her lip. It had been seven months since her own sixteenth birthday, and for the most part she had been focusing on trying to fall out of her doomed love with Sasuke. Some days it seemed about as possible as growing wings and flying away. Other days, days when Konoha was beautiful and good and her friends were strong and brave, she was surprised at how easy it was to forget The Boy Who Left. "Maybe you don't feel anything for them right now, but we're still pretty young and you've got your whole life to figure out what they really mean to you." She sighed. "At least you know who they are. Not knowing is worse." It was the first time she had admitted to performing the jutsu. Naruto's eyes widened slightly, and Kakashi made a small sound that might have been disagreement, or might just have been a cough. Sai made no comment whatsoever; his birthday wasn't until November.
A burning log rolled free from the others and sent sparks glittering high in the air. "I guess you're right," Naruto finally said, though the aforementioned confusion still reigned over his face. "Maybe I'll wake up one day and feel differently. I just wish he'd said something last July, when he first found out."
"'He?'"
Hyuuga Hinata's sixteenth birthday was the cause for equal parts celebration and worry in the Hyuuga clan. Theirs was one of the oldest and noblest families in Konoha, and as heir to the first house it went without saying that her soulmate would have to be at least as noble.
Her aunts, uncles and distant cousins crowded around, craning their elegant necks for the first glimpse of her matchmaking symbol. Hinata's new kimono sat heavy around her, but its warmth was the only comfort against the frigid December air. The ritual itself was non-negotiable, but her parents had granted her the small concession of allowing her to choose the colour of her gown. She chose orange.
The heir to the Hyuuga hopes and dreams formed the seals to her fate with shaking hands. Unable to see the burning sole of her foot from her position, she watched the faces of her family instead.
At first there was confusion, a ripple of delicate uncertainty, then her father gave a mild sigh. "Some clanless nobody," he said to the crowd, ignoring Hinata's small gasp. "Disappointing, but hardly cause for despair. I have heard a rumour that the daimyo's second cousin bears a Hyuuga flame. Undoubtedly this is to be our daughter's future spouse."
"Husband," Hinata's mother spoke quietly, her eyes still on her daughter's foot. "If this meant Hinata was destined for a Konoha civilian, would it not be the Leaf? This symbol," she gestured with a delicate wave of her hand, "may be common in this village, but it's origin is…" she trailed off with a significant look, and Hinata watched the colour drain from her father's face.
Murmurs swept through the cold hall, turning to indignant cries as Hyuuga Hiashi swept from the room like an apoplectic bat. Once she was sure that enough eyes were off her, Hinata hiked up her kimono and twisted her foot back to gaze at the symbol on her sole. There it was, the same symbol she had seen emblazoned on the backs of Konoha flak vests all her life. The spiraling, whirlpool symbol of her true love.
She laughed.