DISCLAIMER: Artreonisdies owns no characters, lore, or the function of the universe within this story. He only owns his featured OC.
OC has been tested for Mary Sue qualities, is discovered to be in a safe range.
This story only contains one OC throughout the entire fic. His name is Yaruka Hidemichi.
Is somewhat of an au.
Takes place around the events of the chunin exams (of the anime) and onwards.
• CHAPTER ONE •
An abysmal humming probed the focused ears of the only inhabitant remaining from inside the house; a small boy, among the late years prior to adulthood, being only perched within the comforts of his bed. From in his grasp held a book, which displayed minimal yet visible damage to the pages corner, fingernails seeping with unholy excitement into the delicate material, and eventually, scratching off the ink. Though, that had been the last thing he wished to happen, his manga holding a fragile price from within his heart, a once lonely void now brimmed with his devotion - his shelves spoke of his enthusiasm in physical silence. Thus, whilst his nose headed into the story, reality had become a forgotten concept, and only whispered as background noise, until the humming had constructed its own form. An alarm - it claimed to be - set only minutes before his intended departure, its vibrations shivering against his polished furniture, though being no less ignored from the boy himself. Without an intent to peel his focus from his book, he only blinked, a gentle attempt to shake off the ringing.
He considered himself to be ill, for a moment, assessing the sound and comparing it with the hollowness of his mind, though no thought poked the field of its purpose, thus he continued to ignore the provoking shriek. It had only been minutes well after it began before he closed his hobby, black brows pressed together, his memory neglecting the reason for the buzz, falling victim to its lure. His eyes scanned what he made his bedroom - though it had only consisted of ghost white walls and furniture built of birch, he was eager to decorate it, saving a singular spot above his bed for an anime poster of some kind - to discover what had caught his focus, when the switch inside his head had finally flickered to the idea: he had somewhere to be.
His heart skipped, for the time, for the reason, for his inability to mature. He had a date, for that night, and had intended to prepare hours before, though he had only glued himself to the pile of manga stacked beside him, all consisting of volumes from the Naruto series, which had recently become his passion. He stared down at what he had chosen to wear - his black sweat pants stained with unforgiving paint, and an oversized gift: a hoodie bought from a concert he hadn't been able to attend - thus insulting himself internally, tearing apart the mechanism of his drawers to dig out decent enough clothing, dressing himself as he tumbled down the stairs, forcing his feet into visibly old socks, decorated with small pixelated images of pugs. He hadn't the time to brush his teeth, his hair, or refresh his mind, not as the bus neared the stop parked by his house. Jeans had forced its way to his waist, the large apparel hugged around his torso soon became replaced with a simple tee - which he had discovered was an unfortunate size, tightening around his shoulder blades. He hoped the woman he planned to meet hadn't a mind for judgement, in case his underdressed self hadn't matched her invisible quota. Too old, he caught himself muttering, wrapping his fingers around his wallet, sprawled upon the table, too old to be reading manga like this.
As dangerous as he considered, he hadn't the time nor motivation to lock his front door behind him. The external exit slammed against the brick of his wall, a loud shudder echoing within the empty streets, catching the idea of the middle aged bus driver, who eyed him as he sprinted across the ghostly road, hopping to bring his feet to meet with his shoes. His punctuality gutted his dating life, as it seemed, seeing as only busied mothers clutching their children and wrestling them to return to the comforts of the stroller only held up the wait, forcing the boy to kick at the stone with pure impatience, thus earning a dishonest glare from a woman gripping to the rail, an unkempt boy clinging to her hip. Yaruka only scowled in response, inviting himself to shove passed the woman, embracing the coiled air from within the vehicle. He swung to be seated by the door, until the very last figure had trudged through its wide exit, the doors slamming shut became music to his ears. Thirty minutes, warned the estimated time of its route, thirty minutes until the city.
He should have at least brought a volume along with him, he regretted, having to now bask in his boredom with daydreams among the faceless crowd cramped inside the vehicle. His head prodded against the windows glass, his own mirrored reflection casting his signature frown, a line drawing itself between his eyebrows, as if tired of constantly being held as a tool to express frustration. He sighed at his condition; from the stubble peeking from beneath his jawline, to the eye bags holding his luggage consisting of the lack of sleep he received each night, he wondered if others had agreed to assuming he was homeless during the times he eventually existed among the public. His hair, black and skewed, held no resonance of ever being a child of elegance, as this boy had been simply born to exist as a disaster. His final glance to his appearance, he brought a string of his hair and pulled it to his nose, now only hoping his date will not fall to assume he doesn't regularly wash his hair, a musky odour omitting from it, as well as a lingering coating of grease. Yaruka only sighed, his eyes fluttering to shut into a tight blink, though without the intention to open.
If only he grasped the lifestyle of the characters written in his manga collection; a scythe meister on the hunt for souls, a powerful being in search for orbs to grant a wish, or perhaps, even a training ninja discovering his own ability. His smile jaunted upward momentarily at that thought, if he had been one to train within Iruka Sensei's radar, he wondered which team he would have landed within, and perhaps, if Naruto had made an effort to be his friend. He wondered the results if he were the child's main supporter, if the boy had someone to love him, and rid him of loneliness. Though an unlikelihood dwelled within his mind, as his dislike for children would overpower the fondness expressed toward Naruto. His second read through overcame his free time, thus came the thoughts of a fictional jealousy, only admiring the carefree lifestyle of a ninja, and how simple he would be born to live. His father had often scolded him for his childish behaviour, singing a song of anger towards his self expression, thus encouraging to focus on mature topics. He declined, and soon, all his happiness had belong to the energetic blond boy in the orange tracksuit.
He found his method to pass time had become involved with the series itself, recently. Bored? He'd daydream about eating ramen with Team 7. Angry? He'd imagine Hinata's gentle voice encouraging his mind to stretch into a calming state. Happy? He thought to high five Kiba out of excitement. Though, his dreams were just dreams' and nothing more, as he had to remind himself on a regular basis. His obsession had grown obscure, during this point in his life. He attempted to recall the last he had seen his family, or any of his friends, though he only got glimpses of himself communicating to the outside world through his computers screen. Even as he envisioned the woman he was to meet, she had no face - no genuine face of an everyday woman, but the face of Sakura, shoulder length pink hair included. With a sigh, he pressed the base of his forehead against the glass window, a shielded view of the life outside, and closed his vision until the only shade he spotted was the black of his eyelids.
The gentle whir of the wheels beneath him had soon been drowned out, either through mere habituation, or clear ignorance. The world had felt to fade around him, a lack of life now evident to his ears, a soulful whisper to his consciousness. A relaxation of a sort engulfed his spirit, almost humming him into a light sleep. He recalled himself being a light sleeper, and if he hadn't woken by the arrival of the second stop, then he would surely be ill for his condition. But, nevertheless, sleep devoured him whole, lulling him into a state of wishing. How would my life venture if I had grown as a leaf ninja?