[July Update]
AN: Hey, reader! Rewrote this 3 times. Still playing with the writing style (good? bad?). Hard at work making the next few chapters. See you at the end…
Orochimaru enters Academy days, part two of two.
Past
Trap Me In The Past
1.5 Years After the First Shinobi World War
Tsunade has found the perfect way to talk without saying or writing a word.
It took her days of asking around to figure it out and, honestly, the solution was simple. It's not her fault she couldn't understand a world without speaking—how he manages to do so absolutely boggles her. How can he stay quiet while they learn how to leap across crevices like birds? And when he writes, it's so surface-level, so lacking, he's a different person! Every time they "communicate", things are lost in translation.
No wonder her mother worries so much about him. It started off as occasional murmurs ("The world is too cruel if they hurt a little boy….") to unprompted comments ("He's fine now. There's no need to worry.") to finally making him a topic in conversations ("He looks lonely."). When she first saw the helpless and plain boy, she took it as her job to protect him.
This afternoon changes everything! They'll communicate through flowers. He can showcase wonderful bouquets to describe his complex thoughts. He can hold up a dainty, simple flower for weak emotions. Best of all, her father loves flowers and would gladly prepare a flower garden. He could cultivate his own language and work hard at daily upkeep to grow strong. Ah, the mere thought sends her skipping down the emptying halls of the Academy. Right into—
"Oh, sorry…"
"Are you?"
—the back of the ice-cold heiress: the Hyuuga Clan's next leader.
Hinome Hyuuga is beautifully slender in ways Tsunade would have to starve herself to reach. Her movements are slow, fluid, and strong. Waves of her blackish-blue hair frame a pale, stoic expression. She looks down at Tsunade, judging her with frigid eyes and because Tsunade hasn't quite hit her growth spurt.
"Glad to see you again," Tsunade says, stepping back to walk around the girl, but the latter glides into her way.
"It seems," Hinome says, "the granddaughter of Lady Mito makes yet another poor decision."
"It's late," she says, closing the distance, daring Hinome to keep up her holier-than-thou tone. "We both got things to do as future clan leaders, right?"
"I know I do," Hinome says, flicking her gaze down and up. "These days, I feel you've lost focus."
Tsunade's chest fills with fire. "Geez, so you knowing my grandparents automatically means you know me? Out of my way, Hinome."
"I know you," Hinome says, unfazed, "because that mute boy is your weakness."
"Not this." Weeks of her telling her nosy classmates why she protects him, and yet the questions never end! She tilts her head back and huffs.
"Yes this. You spending your dying clan's resources on something that'll never benefit it is—"
"—stupid? Waste of time? Useless? What else can you say that nobody else hasn't? I don't care what you think!"
"You should care." Hinome's gaze slides from Tsunade's eyes, left to right, her light breathing filling the silence. "You have power over this village unlike the rest of the clans. If you wish to not repeat history, it would be wise to control what stands to hurt you. Or destroy it."
Hinome's words chill Tsunade in a way her personality never can. The Hyuuga heiress is ambitious, hardworking, and talented. She is not a test to pass or a grade to beat, nor can she be stopped in battle. She strikes with words. Tsunade steers clear of her.
Right into the worst boy in the world who not only rejects her for the millionth, billionth time, but rips apart the anemone flower as if to say I don't need your help.
Why can't he just listen to her? He's obviously lonely and scared in public. She isn't. She won't go running off during breaks to who-knows-where instead of trying to make friends and be normal. Why does he hide away in the Academy and ignore her efforts? Does he think she's not capable of helping him? Mom tells her she has potential. Daddy tells her she will be great. Grandma Mito, Grandpa Hashirama, the Uzumaki—she is the star that will guide them all to a better future.
Whywon'tOrochimaru believe it? Does he think she's not good enough?
From the moment she throws open the front door, she knows what she must do.
"Oh, princess!" Hazuo kneels before her, wiping off her still wet cheeks. "What happened? Are your hands bleeding?"
At that, Tokonoma hurries into the entryway, face flush. "Bleeding? Where's Orochimaru?"
Even if he doesn't believe it, Tsunade is a star.
"I—I left Kunoichi Class, and he was gone!"
The expanse of the Hidden Leaf Village closes in on Orochimaru.
Hours passed as he lost himself to streets, the last remnants of day disappearing. Smells, sounds, lights combine, form a watercolor painting so smeared, its original intent is forever lost. The usual foot traffic is nonexistent as villagers enter buildings and apartments. Stores turn in their chalkboard signs and lock their doors. Amber light from windows are the only thing to color the dark smudges of black and green that the moonless sky brings.
A different sort of villager takes to the streets. Their gait reveals no destination, only putting one foot after the other until they can no longer. Their glazed over eyes see nothing but their own waking dreams for the night never lets them sleep. He trips in his attempt to avoid them, sprawling on his back. Above, a kunai-like rock juts from the ground, one he'd seen countless times: the Memorial Stone.
Of all places, he ends up here. Either he's just that unlucky or the sheer number of them were bound to crop up in day to day life. He sits upright and traces a finger down the smooth edge, drawing on the lingering warmth of the early summer sun. Warmth like being cradled by his parents.
His body moves, sensing something long before his consciousness does. It is this reason he stares into moon-white eyes a mere twenty paces away and is frozen to the spot.
The man—the Hyuuga shifts his weight to his back leg while writhing veins bulge on his face, and sprints for him.
He throws one foot in front of the other, faster than his pounding heart. The slow stride of the villagers provide a decent deterrent as the Hyuuga, with precise movements, threads through the crowd like a ghost. Further ahead, the buildings are smaller, undeveloped, and deserted. Ducking under the legs of a man, he reaches a long-since abandoned store. He lunges through the empty window.
The inelegant dive sends him crashing to the ground, dust catapulted into the air. He needs to hide—no more time searching. The sole things remaining are a checkout counter just outside the window's light and a rusted door covered in slash marks and blackish stains. He hops over the counter and hopes to find a nail to hide in his clothes, a crowbar to beat him, even a disgusting spiderweb to blind him.
All search efforts stop as soon as the front door creaks open. Every tremor in his body is an earthquake.
The sound of the Hyuuga's heel on wood pierces the silence. He rolls down onto his arch and ball of his foot in a deliberate, even motion. Repeats. No words are needed. The man has won and wants his reward.
"Oi!"
Another barges in, an adult man's voice he cannot place. An ally?
"An Inuzuka to bother me while I work." The Hyuuga ninja doesn't dare hide the disgust in his tone.
"I'm here so you don't do something you'll regret."
The tension in his muscles eases. He should glance over the counter, to see his rescuer.
"Me, regret a direct order from Lady Mito? Thanks to you, the boy has escaped under my jurisdiction, and I will be reprimanded."
Mito? Mito ordered him to be found? Not after that thinly-veiled threat from the Hokage's room, back when she assisted Hiruzen during the transition of power.
"Lady Mito couldn't care less about the fool!" The Inuzuka slaps his palms together for emphasis. "You know who does? The daughter of two clans that did nothing but good for our village, and yet the best she can do is build an orphanage nobody wants using the very money we worked our asses off for the Leaf!"
His stomach roils, unable to keep down his hope now turned rancid.
"Inuzuka, surrender yourself to the hard labor camps and hope the clan, you care so little for, will forget you quickly."
The Inuzuka barks out a laugh. "Least I don't need no ugly little forehead reminder to kiss the feet of my seniors."
"You dare disgrace the life your kind birthed you into?"
"There are many things," the Inuzuka says, voice calm and steady since arriving, "man are too prideful to give man. We say we're better than animals—it's a lie. If you think I'm crazy, you're lucky, Hyuuga."
For a moment, all is silent. Neither moves.
"We wait," says the Inuzuka. "'Til that out-of-touch woman gets so desperate to find him. Then we give 'im back. She'll give us what we want."
He smothers the sound of his racing breaths, hoping the cold terror that sent his heart pumping cannot be heard by them.
"You are certain of this?"
"She's lived through hell on this planet. Think she can handle any more loss?"
Their steps fade, and it does not stop his flesh from crawling on his bones, the shivers threatening to up end his stomach. Insects chirp in the silence while he sits and takes long, deep breaths to settle himself.
He stole Hazuo's book, he stressed out Tokonoma while pregnant, he peeked over to the altar shrine Tokonoma hid, and he shoved Tsunade to the ground. They'll dump him in the Orphanage without a second thought.
If he truly wants to save them, he will not return.
He curls into a little ball, backpack and clothes his bed, on the dusty wood—motionless, aside from his sporadic jolting with every odd, sudden noise. Before long, his body is heavy, mind cloudy, and through the brief gap in his memory, someone has placed a tattered blanket over him.
Morning brings soreness and a parched throat. He shuffles through his backpack for—aha, he left some food in his bentou boxed lunch. The rice balls are chilling and slimy down his throat, and a mere corner of water quenches no part of his thirst. Beyond the protective store walls, life is in full bloom, though muffled: talking, laughing, chirping. The same as those months he spent in the apartment all alone.
Now, though, he add rereading the Tales of the Pure Land with bated breath, as if his translating would clarify how Tobirama developed Edo Tensei. Nothing but soul monologues.
He roams the village's streets in search of a new hiding place once sunset returns, having left a thank-you note on the discarded blanket. The clarity of the world fades in the lacking sunlight as he walks and walks and walks. Soon, every shadow seems fit to conceal the Hyuuga and Inuzuka. The streets are indistinguishable. Is he walking in circles? Where is he? Where will this path take him? He can't see over the horizon. Where is he?
"Orochimaru, there you are!"
A hand clamps onto his shoulder and twists him around to—his stomach drops, sending shivers through his muscles.
The boy scrutinizes his expression, and his brows shoot up. "Oh, wow, when you're alone, you're kinda scary—but, uh, nice meeting you! Name's Jiraiya!" He extends a small, bruised hand. "I'm gonna become the Hokage one day!"
He tried desperately to forget the lopsided grin, to purge the glimpses of his clashing red and white kimono top from his memory. Jiraiya isn't like Tsunade—his fate, his end is all his doing. Jiraiya's relentless pursuit of teaching and the decay of an organization—none of which is his own doing and none he can defeat by proxy.
He can't save this many lives when he can barely save his own.
He starts to pulls away, but Jiraiya tugs him. "Wait! I got food at my place. It's not too far from here! Plus, don't you want tonight's homework?"
He needs to run as much as he needs food. Without his parent's life insurance money, without a job, he will not survive the streets for long. He surrenders.
They enter a small, two-story building before long. Kokoro's Book Corner is painted in pastel calligraphy on the store's front. The glow of candlelights greet him with its soft luminescence. The array of close-together shelves seem to protect them. Jiraiya guides him to the back door where he lifts up the portière dividing the store and personal quarters, high enough for Orochimaru to walk underneath. They climb the simple staircase lit by small candles and reach the second-floor in moments.
"The door far left is the bathroom. Next to that is Granny Kokoro's room. In the middle's the closet for all kinda junk. Granny's lovely but hates throwing out stuff. Anyways, the last is my room!"
Jiraiya tugs him inside and dodges the mess of toys and papers, to the scattered bundle of blankets in pillows in one corner to rearrange them. Carefully, he dodges Academy textbooks and old clothes spilling out of a fading box. Silvery streams of moonlight pour out the small window and brighten the cramped room more than the odd candle. By the time he makes it to Jiraiya's side, the boy has made a makeshift bed.
Jiraiya stares up at him, grinning, "You first. It looks way worse than it is. Probably."
With a shake of his head, Orochimaru eases onto the makeshift bed, watching Jiraiya blow out the candle, submerging them in darkness. The reality of his action sinks in as the night creature's melody drifts into the room as if it lacks walls. Here he lies next to a boy unaware of how great he would become, the edge of the soon-to-be-man's warmth, the aroma of wood and grass that fleece his body. If anyone could have the opportunity to have died and lived a life inside their childhood joy, they would leap at this moment, so he knows something is wrong with him for the dread weighs on his chest.
"Still up?"
Back facing the light, Jiraiya's dark eyes with a small pinpoint of light meets his own. His white hair catches a few more rays of light, giving the messy spikes a opalescent sheen.
"Your eyes are like a ocean, and the world is rain. It's raining hard, and the ocean just take-take-takes in all that water. But where's it all going? To the top? Or deep at the bottom? I see dozens of people of everyday, but never your eyes. So, at first, there was no way you could be real."
Jiraiya shifts his eyes down to his hand tracing circles onto the pillow.
He looks at Jiraiya, but his words repeat in his mind, and looks away.
"Thanks," Jiraiya breathes. "Being here means a lot to me. I don't deserve it, with what I'm doing, but…"—he pats the pillow and flutters his fingers—"sleep well."
"Granny gets too tired cooking," Jiraiya says through a mouthful of food. "Oh, don't worry about being too noisy—her hearing ain't that good. But even if she spots you, she'd never hurt you. She's wonderful like that."
Breakfast consists of fruits, rice, and meat in a pre-made dish Jiraiya bought at the nearby store at dawn for them. From Kokoro's room, the scent of sweet green tea and hot rice drifts.
Moments later, Jiraiya is dusting off his hands and slides on his backpack. "You have one job for me. Sit here and relax, 'cause everything's gonna be fine, okay?"
His throat constricts while Jiraiya clicks the door shut, impossible to keep eating. He lingers in the quiet, and time continues. Oh, if he could be time, unrelentingly steadfast. He could conquer the world.
Gradually, the ebb and flow of people entering the bookstore, sales and conversations are made, and routines are fulfilled. He looks over the scattered belongings itching to put his mind into motion and crawls over to Jiraiya's textbook and flips open to the marked page. The chapter speaks of corresponding hand seals to animals, a chapter he read a while ago, but now his face twists in horror as the words seep in.
He thumbs page after page, recalling all the chapters he read. Ninja history, chakra fundamentals, survival tactics. Finally, he turns it over only to be met with an identically labelled book.
He bolts up and searches even more, coming across uncompleted homework. Unlike his version, the paper has far more problems and longer questions. They are in the same class, so why the differences?
He grabs both their textbooks, and, unable to set his mind at ease without information, sneaks down the steps. Beyond the curtain are distant voices. He peaks, finds any suspicious eyes, and slips underneath. To the checkout counter.
"Oh my, I didn't see you enter, young man. May I help you?"
His chin barely reaches the top, and yet Kokoro seems smaller. She takes the textbook, the crinkle of her eye lines fading into curiosity, and pulls up the sleeves of her white sweater as she reads over the books. When finished her smile dips. "Are you in the Academy, young man? Your textbook is so concise and simple, and yet Jiraiya's book"—she lifts the bruised and dirty thing—"is overwritten and excessive. Perhaps I purchased the wrong kind? I ordered directly from the Academy…"
Kokoro confirms it: their textbooks pretend to be the same.
The elderly woman takes Jiraiya's textbook and slips out the door with her coat after a brief farewell. He waits a moment longer before fleeing upstairs.
Why do their textbooks differ so much? Is Jiraiya playing catch-up? Does he have a learning disability? As the Academy is brand new, mistakes are bound to be made. He should've left with Kokoro to get answers. But, no, she's bound to talk with him. Or, worse, he could run into Tsunade or Tokonoma.
He stuffs his textbook into his backpack and welcomes the silence. And, for no reason, he gets the urge to look behind him.
A man stands on the opposite wall, staring back with white eyes.
He bolts. Down the stairs and outside the bookstore, right into the midday crowd. Dodging passerby who give the occasional glower as if their day is ruined. Over his shoulder, no Hyuuga—maybe openly hunting in broad daylight would look bad. He searches left and right. Need a hiding spot before they can regroup and think.
That is until barking pierces his ears. Behind, a lean dog slips between person and person, making a beeline for him. Escape. Now. But here, to combat the busy villagers, are buildings and shopped squeezed together. People waste their excitement from one entertainment to the next. The crowd multiplies in size, but a man clad in the standard uniform, sharpened canine teeth pulled into a grin, wild eyes focused on him, walks in the traffic headed his way and steals his attention.
Nowhere to go.
Nowhere but—he channels chakra to his feet and jumps off the ground.
The Academy went over the mechanics, and he's seen it in the show plenty times. It's another thing to be ten times his height in the air. Zero landing plans. Trapped by dumbfounded villagers.
His legs go weak. It's pure luck he sloppily rolls on a rooftop, ripping his clothes. No pain, no blood. He scrambles on all fours and jumps once again. Hissing winds. An angry sun pelting him light. A churning stomach pushing its sour contents to the back of his throat. The third jump, he aims for a higher, longer hang time. Then, he can afford a moment to think.
Below, the villagers are ants going about their day, uncaring of a flying boy. For a moment, he shoots his hands up and by his sides not to balance himself, but to spread his wings.
He is a ninja. The coolest thing that's ever happened since he died. He's the closest thing to every superhero he's seen or read. If he plays his cards right, he is a hero.
The rooftop almost meets him. That's when the Inuzuka appears on the roof and seizes his collar, hissing, "You're not going back there. Not yet. You're coming with us, and you're going to keep quiet. Or else."
Should he even try to stabbed a trained killer, there is no way he can spin the truth in his favor. He can't scream. He'll be tortured until he never utters a word ever again. He wanted to save Tokonoma and instead walked into their trap. Heat wells up from inside his chest, his vision blurs.
"Put him down."
The Inuzuka is a kid caught in the cookie jar. The man hops to the ground, and a cold sensation rips through his core. Drains his face of all color. A metallic aroma smothers him, as if his nose is pouring blood. The chakra he worked so hard to control no longer yields. Dangling in the air, he cannot move.
The Inuzuka plasters on a wobbling smile. "Lady Tokonoma, I've found—"
"Drop him."
The Inuzuka tosses him to the ground where he crumples and scratches his knees as if running broken glass over the joints.
"Oro-Orochimaru!"
Another voice. This one grows closer and a person is at his side—the tear-filled eyes of Tsunade meet his. She presses glowing hands on his knees, the rush of frosty relief clearing his head.
"Lady Tokonoma, please—" The Inuzuka's back faces an alley entrance. The shade of the nearby store's sign surrounds him in shadows.
"Liar."
Opposite the man stands Tokonoma, her red bob and kimono jostled by a breeze only affecting her. Her short breaths grow more and more shallow, either due to the weight of her stomach or the Killing Intent that devours the street devoid of all but two others:
Hazuo tugs at her arm, urging, "You cannot stress yourself to this extent! You must rest, please.…" It falls on deaf ears.
Mito Uzumaki watches everything with an impassive gaze.
Why is everyone here? How did they know to come here?
"A Jounin who couldn't find a toddler for two days." Tokonoma balls her hands into white, trembling fists at her sides. "Despite the perfect scent trails I gave? Despite the fact he couldn't have gotten that far? Really? Tell me what you want right now."
The Inuzuka ducks his head. "There must've been foul play, Lady Tokonoma."
"Ah, foul play. Right. Well, let's head on down and confirm it at Torture and Interrogation."
The Inuzuka snaps his head over to Mito. "Lady Mito, do you agree to these baseless threats?"
Mito looks to her daughter and monotones, "There is insufficient evidence to charge Hara[1]. Take the boy and go home, Tokonoma."
At that, Tokonoma spins on her heel, pointing into Mito's chest. "Just 'cause you don't care about anyone outside the clan doesn't give you the right to hurt others! If he was kidnapped—"
"I prioritize," Mito says, loud enough to stop her, "the prosperity and safety of the village over the life of one individual. You, simple child, have never matured enough to see the sacrifices I make."
"So what? I'm supposed to feel good, while you sit in on your throne, that kids are dying on the streets? That we'll let our orphans go hungry and have our clans get fat and merry?"
Tsunade lets out a gasp and smacks her hands over her mouth, trembling. He pulls at her teal top hoping to divert her attention into healing. She can't look away.
"In an ideal world, no one would die," Mito replies, lifting her chin up at her daughter. "We are trapped in a cycle of suffering. It is our goal to cause our children the least amount of suffering. Boys like him are far better in the grave than believing he can be a Hokage. Not everyone can be a ninja, Tokonoma."
"How long has it been since you thought that, Mom?" Tokonoma is breathless. He can practically hear how hard her heart pounds. "Nearly four decades. The Leaf has barely made it to two, so what's the reason why you've thought that ever since I was a kid?"
Hazuo lunges in front of her. "Tokonoma, we need to go home."
"You are fully aware of the reality of this, do not pretend to be blind. Frankly, I could not be any more happier that you failed to be a ninja."
"I knew it—"
"I made you strong in a violent world without the use of blade or blood. Today, you are strong."
"Are you stupid? I've never been strong. You're so out-of-touch with reality." Her voice is raw. Tears roll down reddened cheeks.
"You hold yourself back," Mito says, dispassionate. "You are afraid to love and lose, so you play this ridiculous character to the point you cannot help wondering whether or not the real you exists anymore. Grow up and move on."
"Dad told me the truth," Tokonoma mumbles, leaning away from Hazuo's hands. "He married you because he was young and didn't want to disappoint the clan. He never loved you."
Mito's eyes go wide.
Heat that can turn metal into ash floods his body. His blood turns into hot plasma as it churns and stabs him with pain. He gulps down air, but his lungs don't register it. More and more breaths, nothing, he chokes although nothing blocks his lungs—
"Wait, please, please! I lied!" Tsunade's shrieking, teary voice breaks through the wall of fire. "I hurt Orochimaru, and he ran away! It's all my fault. Please stop fighting…."
Seeing tears fall down a young face melts away all anger. No one moves at first. Soon, Hazuo crouches to eye-level and whispers, "Why did you lie, Tsunade?"
She sniffles, "You were gonna hate me."
Hazuo embraces her, rubbing circles on her back. "Oh, Tsuna…you make mistakes," he whispers while his shaking voice betrays his own crying. "We can't hate you."
They shield the other from the pain of the world, giving strength to cry without end. Would he be hugged if he joins them in crying?
"Tokonoma, wait." Mito calls for her daughter, but to no avail.
Tokonoma runs away.
Against all reason, he chases after her. No-one stops him, perhaps assuming he's running away again. He follows her fiery red hair and white robes through backstreets, and to the Sarutobi compound only pausing at the home's staircase to catch his breath. Whether or not she hears him, she strides deeper inside, silent. He rises. Not in the kitchen nor in the main room. Not in the library. Inside the room of the altar shrines.
She kneels before the shrine covered by the room divider he side steps to kneel next to her. For a long moment, she stares into her hands with a look in her eye that makes him wonder is she seeing her hands or something else entirely? He counts his heartbeats as he waits.
"If you ran away 'cause Tsunade hurt you…" Tokonoma sighs. Her body is a wilted, dying flower. "You're a smart kid. You'd run home. But you didn't. Even before you left, you were getting all cranky. Did you hate us? Me? Geez, I wasn't…thinking straight when I saw you at the cemetery. I needed to give you a family."
All along, she scooped him up that day for a simple reason: she wants him to be a part of her family.
Him.
All along, he wasn't clinging onto an impossibility. He went so far as to hate and blame her. He wasted six months in anger and confusion.
"I'm sorry you had to watch me argue," she says with her fingers on her hair, hooking them, yanking the strands. "A child shouldn't see that. But what if you got kidnapped? I'm not lying when I say this, tryna get you to stay—that's not it! I couldn't stand the thought of someone taking you. You're so young. You're too young for all of this…"
His lungs won't fill, no longer because of overwhelming power, but the leaden shame of running away. She wants to be his mom. She wants to take care him. He has been happier here in the last six months than most of his second life.
She has to know. He may lack a voice, but he can speak.
He rubs circles on her back, a tiny hand in a field of white. Her breaths are quick and short, to deeper and longer. She chuckles, "I'm supposed to help you feel better. Thank you, though."
Thank you. His chest flutters and swells.
In the house, footsteps. Heading their way. Neither is surprised to hear at the door, "Go on, princess" from Hazuo.
Tsunade hugs Tokonoma from behind. "I'm so so sorry!"
Tokonoma grabs her arms to secure her hold. "Sorry you had to watch that. You okay?"
She nods and stops. They lock eyes. She made him running away seem like it was his fault. Things wouldn't have been this horrible. Is it right, though, to be upset at a child's logic when he is no mere child? The anger that constricts him feels right.
Tsunade cowers. "I got mad b-because I want to help you, and you never wanted it. It hurt so bad. I wanted to make you hurt as bad as I did. I'm sorry, Orochimaru."
He…can't be mad at a child. It's wrong.
He sighs and opens his arms out. A little. Hopefully she won't need a hug.
His hopes are dashed as she lets go of Tokonoma and barrels into his arms, toppling the two of them to the ground.
Sunset has long passed when Jiraiya enters the bookstore.
"Ah, welcome," greets Granny, summoning him upstairs.
She places two exact textbooks on his study table. He says, "Do you want me to study double the time?"
Granny giggles. "Actually, there is something curious. Look."
She slides her finger over one paragraph and the next. He's not the fastest reader, so it takes him a moment to realize one paragraph is overwritten and muddled whereas the other is easy and short. "What's with that?"
"I'm not sure. The Academy said I must have collected the wrong book by accident. You now have two books to choose. Good luck studying, Jiraiya!"
"Ah, thanks!" He forces a grin. So super thrilling to sit in a chair for hours and hours learning about crucial ninja arts like concepts and vocabulary.
Kokoro, in the doorway, adds, "Good work completing your homework, too! I know it's difficult, but when you pull through, you can do amazing things."
Homework? He rummages his desk for "homework" only to discover that she did see a homework paper. Fully completed. When this morning, it was not.
He bursts into Granny's room, jolting the old woman making tea. "Granny, I did something bad."
He tells her everything. He saw how distraught the girl he's crushing on was in class—how she sadly mumbled that the quiet boy went missing. He searched the streets, not practicing, until he happened upon the boy.
"What if he didn't want to be found?" he asks, now stirring his tea absentmindedly. "He's gonna be so mad I lied."
Granny smiles, full of warmth. "He may not like what you did, but it says a lot about your character, Jiraiya. You must be proud."
Proud, huh?
He can't be proud. The boy will hate him and tell his crush. He'll never have a shot.
He has to find some way to make amends.
Tokonoma has finished the curve of her calligraphic ideogram when a thunderous slam tips her ink container over.
The ink runs off the edge, staining her white furisode[2] dress. The cloth is too hard to move in with its dragging sleeves and too tight fit, so she is slow to wipe the ink off. It has smeared all over her lap and hands. No time to waste—any sort of loud noise in the middle of constant war could mean she has one less clansmen to protect.
She struggles into her shoes and heads out the office. An argument seeps through the thin walls of the hallway, growing louder as she reaches the end leading into the main room of the Uzumaki Castle.
At the castle's heart is a mix-and-match of Senju and Uzumaki Clan members, clad in armor and expressions similar to the murals of war heroes surrounding them. Opened sliding doors and windows allow a chilling breeze to sweep through. She clutches her body to conceal shivers, but no one else pays it any mind. Nor to an eight-year-old girl listening in. They are focused on the two in the center.
Her mother stands as strong as an oak tree, eyes as intense as the churning river outside their castle. Her head doesn't reach the top of any man's chest, but she will not back down. Near her feet lies the overturned low table where Tokonoma would share tea with her or daydream looking outside.
Her father stands opposite, her uncle at his side with his gaze shifting from the two. Rather than the warmth and passivity Tokonoma has grown used to, her father's eyes are lifeless. Her chest aches.
"We must, Mito," Father declares, the tone of an unwavering soldier. "The creatures in the Labyrinth Forest need to burn."
"You complain to me of how merciless this world is, and yet you continue to partake in it?" Mother does not back down.
"I understand your concern, I truly do." Uncle's words sound as cold as his red eyes.
"Then you would understand how fruitless this is, Tobirama. I give you my men and my resources. You give me money and corpses. Whose blade have you become this time, Hashirama?"
"I promise to you, we can accomplish something legendary, but I must work the system to its limits."
"How can you expect something good to come from all of this evil?"
Father is going to depart for yet another mission and bring along more of her clansmen. The mere thought of it sends her heart plunging into the depths of her soul. She bursts into the middle of the room, drawing all eyes. "Are you leaving again, Father?"
"You are a mess." Mother looks her up and down. "How many times must I tell you not to play with tools?"
"I did not do this!" She glances at her hands. "Ah, I did some of it, but not all of it…"
Father's eyes soften, nowhere near the fondness she's used to. Glancing over to Mother as if telepathically communicating something, he walks over to her and clasps her hands. She's nearly a woman, yet Father's hands engulfs her own.
"Tokonoma." The amount of affection and joy in tone is the very same as when he tucks her in bed and tells her stories of all the lands he visits.
"I have been working really hard on sealing! Mother has been teaching me how to read bigger books, and I can understand the look of the words—"
"I know," he sighs.
"I can fight in the war soon! I can protect my family! And you. You could show me all your favorite villages. We can eat yummy food together. I want to be a real ninja!"
"That is not possible."
The four words end all hope.
"Father, please. What must I do in order to fight?"
He heaves a great sigh. His hand reaches up and brushes the tasseled cherry blossom petals dangling from her hair ornament[3]. Smoothes the flyaway strands from when she would get so frustrated, she took it out on her hair in a too tight bun. "You are perfect as you are, my daughter. There are many ways of protecting those so loved. Through blood and blade is one of the most damaging, unforgiving ways. I would never wish this burden on you."
"But you do it," she whines. "It cannot be that bad."
"So you can be happy in the future. I will take on all the pain in the world if it meant you could remain as innocent as you are."
"I don't want you in pain." Her words lack the eloquence of Father's, but what else is there to say?
How come Father gets to choose for the both of them? She has no clue what world he imagines or how he will even get there. But the strength behind his words and actions makes her want to believe. If she continues to believe in his hope, one day, maybe she could finally join and protect him in battle. Save everyone.
When he leaves, she waits at the entrance for his return.
He always returns.
At sunset, she hears his footsteps. She hops to her feet, slides the door open, "Father—"
Father stands, eyes wide, pupils enlarged. Dirt and bruise covers his tan face. His armor is chipped and stained by brown splatters. Behind him shuffles a fraction of the men he left with, some faces bloodless, lips and eyes blue, blood-soaked bandages to a man like there are stars in the night.
Uncle, though, he stands tall and unflinching from the pain. He holds the tattered headbands of the Senju and Uzumaki Clans with an emotionless gaze.
"Ah, Tokonoma, do not make that face." Hashirama forces a small chuckle. "This time, we were successful."
FOOTNOTES:
[1] hara - stomach, womb, and one's true motive. ex: kuchi to hara ga hantai da / 口と腹が反対だ [to do opposite of what you say]
[2] a special, thick, and beautiful kimono unmarried young women wear
[3] kanzashi - hair ornament, often worn by geisha
AN:
A. Some time after this chapter and the next, I'll start PM-ing to catch up on reviews as well as confirm whether or not you'd prefer answered questions via PM/updates in my free-time.
B. I updated the story summary and long summary (found at the end of Prologue, but I'll paste it below for 1 week). I wanted to keep the twist secret but…isn't it lying to get you ready for a heroic journey? If you like the clarity, then I hope you'll keep enjoying the story!
LONG SUMMARY:
A soul who died a painful, lonely death finds himself in the body of a sociopathic snake where he is, once more, powerless to stop his parents' deaths. To him, death is a foul, repugnant beast that haunts and destroys, and he would sacrifice the world if it meant his newfound family would no longer live in a violent, suffering world. Only then, can he accept their love if it meant death would never bring an end to their happiness.
Quickly, he realizes how his morals go opposite of the world's. Going with the grain will just surrender the ones he cares for into death's grip. From facing a Mizukage holding his country captive in a lie, another country on the verge extreme desperation, those who would do anything for power and secrets, those who fight to survive and live their own "truths", and the systemic discrimination and corruption within his own village, Orochimaru will face challenge after challenge that force him to ask himself: what costs would he take to ensure the safety of Jiraiya's and Tsunade's fates?
Ultimately, he is nothing more than a human stuck in the cycle of life, death, and reincarnation that plague the 90 chapters of this story. If he is wise, he will learn to accept his part within the world—the only choice he will make that sees him die as a great hero or as a deplorable villain. Think Naruto with elements of Joker, Attack on Titan, and Dark.