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Chapter Fourteen

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The day we started at the Academy was the day I placed the Shadow Clone jutsu at the top of my mental wanted list. It was the same day I met a classroom of umpteen oversized toddlers that missed their mothers in varying degrees of bravery. It was the day Gai gave us miniature jumpsuits; the day I wondered how much I was going to have to rearrange my schedule to squeeze in my other, more personal life.

As newly minted five-year-olds, we were on the younger side of the Academy's initiates. Kato was of course ecstatic; I was sad for the loss of freedom. Unfortunately, Daddy had finally put his foot down and decided that it was time for his kidnapping-prone children to begin their formal education. Surely, I reasoned, school could not be too difficult? I had survived a full cycle of school in my previous years.

Our teacher handed us handwriting worksheets with names of simple ninja tools on them and I wondered why I hadn't taken the Hokage's generous offer of early enrollment and run with it. There were worse things in the world than painstakingly and purposefully destroying my handwriting. Maybe.

The first lecture was a basic overview of the five elemental nations. Suddenly, I discovered why Shikamaru slept through all his classes. I succumbed to the boredom just before the class finished learning a song with all the names of the current Kages.

"I told you you'd hate it," Shika said after school, as he walked Kato and me back to our house.

Kato pursed his lips. "Well, it was pretty boring. But Daddy says there are lots of boring parts before I can be a great ninja."

I glanced at Shika. He glanced back just as dryly. "I don't hate it," I said neutrally. "I am already learning several important lessons."

My friend rolled his eyes. "You can't learn how to be bored."

I smiled. "I can't learn unless I'm taught."

Two weeks into classes, our teacher began to assign me extra work. I gave it all to Kato, whose time would be better spent working than daydreaming about the romantic life of a ninja. Our teacher wasn't thrilled with my delegation, but he offered us both the chance to join the next class and skip six months of schoolwork.

I refused. Kato followed my lead. He deserved the chance to settle into the Academy's routine without stress. We'd skip classes later, of that I had no doubt. We had more endurance than most of the first- and second-year students (one of the Inuzuka boys could run laps around us). We were both labelled prodigies, though Kato not so much yet. Ninja tools would start next semester.

We were allowed to stay with our general age group (the six-year-olds), but I had to start kunoichi classes. This was not a normal thing for girls in the youngest class. I, suspiciously, was not given a choice in the matter. Grandfather was, however, kind enough to assign me to the youngest kunoichi class, which coincidentally met during my recess time. To make up for that I had a longer lunch break. Part of the time carried into Shikamaru's lunch break, which meant I could steal food from Chōji and him. Chōji occasionally brought me an extra bag of chips.

The Hyūga who taught the kunoichi class was the neatest, most delicate, most disturbingly Wildcat-like being I had ever met. She did not appreciate my existence. I had no idea why, at first. Perhaps she had been offended by Kato, or maybe she didn't like the subtle henge I used to make myself look older. I suppose any female that makes herself older is cause for concern.

The other girls thought that I was a bit short for whatever age they assumed me to belong to (they were all at least eight) and let me keep to myself. All except for one, a tanned, polite brunette who seemed to be lonely. A week into the semester, she introduced herself as Kiyomi and bowed the neatest bow I have ever seen a child perform. Frank ten-year-old eyes watched me close my book and arrange my face into a pleasant expression. "It's okay," she said, "you don't have to smile around me."

I did smile then, a smile that for whatever reason caused her to her relax. "I think Hyūga-sensei shouldn't treat you so differently," she said confidently, exactly as she would have had she known me for years. This smooth integration impressed me very, very much. How was it possible to make a stranger feel completely at ease?

"I think she treats each one of us differently," I replied. "The girls who have been in this class longest don't question her. She doesn't control all of us newcomers yet." Which was why she didn't like me. I was hard to control, what with my personality and older mindset.

My new dark-haired friend frowned thoughtfully. "You arrive at conclusions quickly, Wakana-san." Not really. I'd had a while to mull this over. It was true, though. The Hyūga was testing our reactions and thought processes. She hadn't figured out what pleased me, but she knew I didn't like attention being drawn to me. Had I realized her goal earlier, I would have made a persona for kunoichi class. "I thought that you would have assumed me to be one of the students who have been in Hyūga-sensei's class for a while."

I said, "I heard that the lady who used to teach the next age group retired, so they combined the classes. There was nothing to assume."

"May I sit beside you?" Kiyomi asked politely. "I think we will get along well together."

She was motivated by praise, but I couldn't help but wonder what else drove her. Hyūga-sensei hadn't found it yet. Probably because every Hyūga I knew had a problem with helping other people feel comfortable. Wasn't it the Sharingan that was supposed to have a curse attached?

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My extracurricular life was still going strong. Isami and I had completed Daddy's order of fake explosive tags and churned out several new new seals, too. Isami was hard at work under her sealmaster, but she and I still had a few undercover experiments. The seals were finally selling at a decent rate. My share had been dutifully spent on a set of brush pens that could make ink cry.

Sasuke had decided that I was, in fact, his brother, and not really worthy of suspicion. He loved to talk about his classes. He also asked questions, which made things fun. I couldn't exactly tell him what his mother was making for supper.

Did Itachi know? If he did, why didn't he stop me?

I had a few other invented personas, too, but my favorite remained Suzume. Suzume's limp got me all kinds of discounts. Her sealwork had earned me a job offer from Iwa, which I'd had a good heart attack over. It would have made me the best-paid five-year-old in the Elemental Countries. If being a ninja didn't work out, I had another career path I could follow.

Although life as a forger seemed pretty good, too. Maybe the Hokage would endorse my resume. Maybe I could endorse it for myself.

Events of my life aside, my favorite development was definitely the wall I was staring at right now. It was the wall on my side of Kato's and my bedroom, and it was a pathetic shade of dull tan—or perhaps a creative shade of white. Spiderweb cracks skittered through the paint, testament to the genin team hired to finish a newly-bought house as its owner left the village to retrieve two newborns. Wood filled in two jagged holes supplied by each of said twins' later experimenting.

Tenzō eyed his old handiwork with a very labored expression. "What did you do this time, put a hole in the ceiling?" His eyes found the kunai Kato had accidentally lodged above the door (after the event with Deer, Kato hadn't slept very well. Kunai were no longer allowed in our room overnight).

"Only a very small hole," I chirped. "But don't worry, Uncle Tenzō, you don't have to fix anything today. I want you to make something."

"And why should I do that, O Destructive One?"

I smiled and pointed to the piles of colored glass dumped all over my bed. "Because you don't want me to put these on the wall without your help."

I'd compiled the assortment of empty sake bottles I'd received over the years and begged one of my ANBU friends to mold them into squares for me. I wanted them to hang from the wall in a patchwork of color that nowhere else in the house had. I would say a patchwork of danger, but that position had been taken by the fence around our yard. Pockmarked courtesy of me. I hadn't used chakra to climb over it for months now. Besides, why climb when one can use Kawarimi?

"That's true enough," my slave muttered, counting the stacks of fragile, breakable colors, "but what if I don't want to? What if the wall isn't strong enough?"

"Dustbunny says it is."

"Dustbu—no. Never mind. I heard about your nicknaming Boar, and I don't want to know. How high do you want the hooks?"

Heh, heh.

"Don't think I'm doing this because you want me to."

I wouldn't have blown a hole in the wall if Isami hadn't had insisted on that new ink from Iwa. Besides, that had been months ago. The scars were hardly noticeable these days. The patch in the wall was, but that was Tenzō's fault for being out-of-practice with woodwork. And the genin team's for not leaving any leftover paint to patch things with.

"Kana-chan, I'm only going to listen to you for so long."

"Nuh-uh," I disagreed. "You will. You're the only babysitter who's never let me out of his sight."

"That's because you always try to get out of it. I can't let you get away with everything; I can only stand so much of your father."

"Maybe I take after my mother?"

He paused, a little too quickly. "I wouldn't know." I didn't think he was lying. But he had to know something, just like the Hokage definitely knew who she was. Daddy's old self would have rattled off personal information to his superior about as readily as I wrote out seal tags.

Daddy had been a robot when I first met him. And I had been a brat. We'd made good company. I wouldn't say that I was the one to change him, not when having kids changes every parent.

The Hokage knew who our mother was. If she'd been politically important, Tenzō was most likely in the dark, as past Daddy wouldn't have handed out a village secret. But my Daddy had friends.

Maybe he took after me a bit.

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"I like you more than I thought I would," Kiyomi announced one day after school had let out and I was waiting for Kato to finish playing with his friends.

"Why's that?" I asked. "Is it because Hyūga-sensei dislikes us equally? Or is it because I'm actually as bad at weapons as I told you?"

She smiled. "There's no need to be peevish, my friend. I just meant I didn't realize how much I would enjoy spending time with you. My family doesn't have anyone like you."

I nodded, vaguely curious why her family factored into her speech so often. I didn't know her family name—our teacher liked to keep privilege and prejudice out of her kunoichi class. Kiyomi hadn't exactly volunteered any information, either. She was perpetually reserved. But then, so was I. Maybe. I might as well have been apathetic, because her average appearance (brown hair and lighter brown eyes) did nothing to intrigue me. Younger me would have been piqued.

"What point are you driving at?" I said, hearing Kato starting to make goodbyes in the back of my mind. "I'll be leaving in a minute."

Pale eyes jumped to the ground. "I don't know . . . I was just . . . could you spend the night at my house someday?"

"Absolutely not," Daddy decided later, at the dinner table. "It's one thing to stay at the Naras' when your brother is in the hospital. You're not spending the night at an anonymous girl's house."

My temper flared. "She's my friend, Daddy. She's not going to kidnap me. She told me what street she lives on—you could send one of the dogs."

"Pakkun!"

The pug moseyed into the kitchen, licking grease off his nose unabashedly. "Yeah, Boss?"

"Kana-chan has a street for you to scout out. One of her classmates lives along it."

I opened my mouth to surrender the address, but Pakkun beat me to verbosity. "Is that the girl who waved as we left the Academy?"

"Yes," I admitted. Great.

"Hm." Pakkun looked at Daddy flatly. "She's an Uchiha."

For a brief second, Daddy may as well been a masked statue. "You're certain?"

I really hoped that wasn't why Hyūga-sensei disliked Kiyomi. But then, who besides that woman would dislike Kiyomi? Who could dislike a girl whose career goal was following Tsunade's path? What teacher would encourage a roomful of girls to learn medical skills but insist that Kiyomi would never be considered competent?

"If she's an Uchiha, then can't Itachi-san protect me?" I asked thoughtfully.

"Not if you want to spend the night," Daddy growled. His fingers, long since finished bringing food to his mouth, began to twirl his chopsticks like particularly dull senbon.

I sulked. "He's lived here. Why can't I go stay with Kiyomi? The Uchiha are in charge of the police force. We have the second-lowest crime rate in the Elemental Countries because of them."

"Don't you use your Academy statistics as an argument, Kana-chan," Daddy said, back to his increasingly prevalent misleading smile. "I'll have to talk to her parents before anything happens. Maybe I'll drop by her house after dinner."

So never, really. Only he did end up disappearing, and when he came back, some dubious miracle (the Hokage, Daddy later whined to himself, and "trust") caused him to actually give me permission to go. Provided I take an emergency reverse-summoning seal with me. And a dog. Not kunai, though.

Although that hardly mattered. Itachi had already tried to help me with my aim, and I'd probably only gotten worse since then. I doubted there was such thing as dignity around that boy. Even Daddy had to know that he'd be outclassed one day.

The next week, I walked home with Kiyomi, Sasuke, and three other Uchihas. Sasuke ignored me. His clanmembers at least had the decency to have Kiyomi introduce us (their names were Raiden, Noboru, and Tsubasa and they were close to graduating. Noboru had a lisp).

The new Uchihas were actually really sweet kids. That could have been because I was so young, or because my father was so well-known, or even that they were close to Kiyomi. Or, of course, my expertise with getting stuck-up prodigies like Daddy to be comfortable might have come into play.

Instead of a guard dog, Kiyomi's family owned a mutated climbing rose that had taken over, among other things, their front door. Kiyomi said that she wished it would bloom, since it clearly had "enough energy to take over the village." It probably never got pruned, I reasoned, which—take over the village? Granted, I hadn't known this girl for long, but what kind of character misjudging had I done? What kind of person uses a future uprising as a hyperbole?

"Please, come in," my Uchiha friend said politely, tugging a rose climber out of the way and giving me an excited little smile. She needed me.

And more to the point, she was a kind of person this world barely had. I needed her. She was gentle sunshine. She was a subtle, kind, caring child.

Their entry room was barely large enough to accommodate two children, let alone the shelves and table of books, scrolls, and half-finished Academy homework. Kiyomi's handwriting was beautiful and she was only ten. Also, she was struggling with simple division. "Is that your homework?" I asked, exactly at the same moment an adult in a different room spoke.

"Is that you, Kiyomi? Why don't you come introduce your guest to me?"

I very nearly left right then. Why would Yasahiro be here? Why are you still alive? I wanted to say. Actually, I wanted to leave. I might have if their killer rose hadn't been such an effective door block.

"Grandmother, Kana. Kana, Grandmother." That was all it should have taken. Kiyomi could have left things there and dragged me to her room.

She bowed to the ancient woman, instead, taking us to the more spacious kitchen. "Grandmother, this is Hatake Wakana, the daughter of the Copy Ninja. Wakana-san, this is my mother's mother."

Dark blue eyes glinted as Yasahiro's weight shifted in her chair. "Take tea with me." Drink poison with me, she could have said.

"Yes, Grandmother. Please allow me to bring the dishes." This family was messed up.

"Come to visit me for tea, Waka-baka?" the dear old lady asked. "I should have dropped by while your father was still sniffing around. How is your brother?"

I had to consciously relax the muscles of my back. "Fine."

"What's that? Don't mutter, child. Speak up."

"He hasn't seen you, so he must be better," my mouth supplied.

The antique Uchiha went still. "Do you care to repeat that, young lady?"

"He's better," I mumbled awkwardly, hoping against hope that my memory was incorrect and I had not in fact voiced one of the stupider sentiments echoing through my head.

"Both rudeness and lying. Do you have the slightest hint of civility?" I was mortified, enough that her comments burned away whatever justification I might have felt. "I would blame your father, but you're much too clever to be ignorant. You're clever enough to be an Uchiha." This was not meant as a compliment. "Uchihas have manners," she contrasted with obvious disapproval.

If she meant that most Uchiha were emotionally repressed because of the pressure to stay in the clan's mold, I agreed. "I'm sorry I'm not an Uchiha," I said in another stunningly insensitive moment. What's wrong with you? snarled my brain. Don't you have a sense of decency? Has five years turned you into a brat?

Well, yes. But beyond that, I was supposed to have learned some modicum of self-control. How could I trust myself to keep secrets if every third thought was spilling out of my mouth?

Yasahiro laughed, the sound crackling in her throat like so many dying cicadas. "That's hardly your apology to give."

Kiyomi scurried in with the tea things, then, and the delightful conversation waned. Although Yasahiro commented that her granddaughter would do well to gain as much of a writing bump as I had. The only scars proper Uchihas were supposed to have, apparently. I wasted no time emphasizing my inferiority by lying that one of Daddy's puppies had bitten me once. I wasn't quite brave enough to slap a henge on my leg to prove it.

Yasahiro left a few minutes after we ran out of tea, and Kiyomi and I were left to stare at each other. "I don't really like tea," I said.

"Mother says it grows on a person. Culture must first be cultivated."

"Yes, well, not every kind of culture is beneficial," supplied my cynicism before my attention wandered back to the clever ways I'd been avoiding eye contact with the ancient Uchiha lady. A waterfall of bright colors hung off the stove handle in the form of several dishtowels. Each was embroidered with the clan symbol. The wall above the stove held the home's most prominent reference to its clan: a painting of a tree bordered by the prevalent symbol and rimmed with spiraling fire. Literally spiraling fire.

Kiyomi's eyes followed mine. "Do you like it?" she asked. "Mother bought it from Akatsuki Weapons a few days ago."

"It turned out pretty well." We hadn't really thought it would sell—a blank sheet of paper that could be customized with one's own outline of a symbol. It was disturbing to see one of them here, although still not as weird as the first day I saw Academy students playing with glitter tags.

Step two for the pictures was giving the buyer an option of earth, fire, air, or water (erratic lightning was still beyond our reach). We liked the tree theme because we lived in Konoha.

"We should go to the weapon shop sometime," Kiyomi said. "Isami-san is always happy to let me look at seals. I wish Mother would let me buy some."

"If Daddy takes us, he'd let you." In fact, he would relish the idea of inflicting those gag tags on anyone he didn't quite trust—Obito's influence hadn't exactly been waning.

"We'll see," replied Kiyomi, which was a clever way of not saying, "Yeah, but my mom'll never let me."

Once I had met her parents, I was inclined to agree. They loved her a lot, unsurprisingly (she was Kiyomi. Besides, Uchiha were private, not unfeeling). They loved her too much to trust anyone but the clan to be with her. This made me an anomaly, but only the ANBU ever found me dangerous. ANBU were funny like that.

Grandfather must have run into Daddy before the meeting with Kiyomi's parents. Unless the couple wanted to improve relations outside the clan. Maybe they had a nice Uchiha girl about Daddy's age. . . .

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"I don't see why you have such a problem with letting your daughter spend the night there," Tenzō told Daddy a week after the sleepover. They'd come back from a mission since then, and as usual, were having a little post-mission heart-to-heart in our kitchen. "The Uchihas are decent people. I won't say I disagree with why we're monitoring them, but they would never let a child be harmed."

Daddy had probably spent the last leg of their journey complaining about my friend. Tenzō was probably fed up and hoping to make it stop. Hopeful enough that he hadn't raided the fridge for a midnight snack.

Daddy crossed his arms where he was leaning against the doorway to the living room. "I'm not worried about that."

"I doubt they'll try influencing her, either. Why are you worried, Senpai?"

"I'm not."

Tenzō didn't believe it, either. "How silly of me. Of course you trust the only police member who's ever willingly given information to the ANBU. Of course you'll give him the benefit of a doubt and trust that his wife is a decent person. What's the real problem? Is it something to do with your eye?"

"One of the Uchiha elders," Daddy said, "wants Kana to join them. Her chakra may have been hereditarily influenced by my Sharingan. Kato's tenketsu issue might have stopped the same thing from occurring."

"You just can't do things in halves, can you?"

Daddy chuckled grimly as Tenzō opened the fridge. "On the contrary. Their mother wasn't an Uchiha. She wasn't famous, either, and look where that's gotten them."

"Hitari won't let anything happen to them. Hey, is this Yoshino-san's spiced fish chowder?"

"Should you be eating when dawn is only a few hours away? The mission report is due soon."

Who cares about that, I groused; go to bed and let me finish my seals. Their missions always gave me extra time to work, but it took a lot of concentration to hear them coming and I had to be careful not to get ink on the sheets during the rush to hide. If I so much as rolled over, Daddy would come in to check. If I stayed still, the conversation could stretch for hours, disassembling every little logistic detail of the mission and playing with possibilities. When Daddy was upset, the topic would stray to our mother. If Tenzō were the glum one, they reviewed foreign jutsu. They mentioned politics every time, accidentally being too vague to be interesting.

Or rather, I should have been listening intently. But why bother when I could overhear practically anyone I cared to listen to? Politics weren't exactly a priority for me.

Yeah, there have been better excuses.

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~Compiled! I'm sorry if you've already reviewed non-anonymously. . . .

I'm home for the summer! But it's a packed summer. Gross.

So, I know that many of you do not exactly . . . appreciate my semi-impressionistic style of writing. In light of this, I suppose it's time for me to (slyly) start a search for a beta. I want to be beyond picky about this, because, well. I've never had one, and what I'd expect, effort-wise, is quite a bit to ask of a person. I want someone experienced, with excellent work I can look at, a person who can be extremely detailed, but mostly someone who can help improve my style, not just help add more details. Details aren't the problem, I'd imagine. There's a fine line between confusion and complexity that I cross a bit too often.

So, if any of you know any amazing betas, perhaps you could mention them to me or ask them if they want to see my work. Everything is, of course, my responsibility, but finding suitable betas can't exactly be done through the search feature.

Just to clarify one last time, I'm not in a rush. That would make things too easy. ;)

Thanks for reading!

(Hey, if you're still here, I'll take this time to direct your attention to my new fic "The Eyes Have It." It's got drama and feels and everything except, well, an unreliable narrator. Now, shoo. And thanks again.)