Top of the Tree

VII

The first day at the academy was a day I'd been dreading since I discovered I was in the Naruto universe. It was the day I was hoping to push back the furthest possible, but there's only so much delaying you can do before your parents notice.

I was able to postpone my entry into the academy for two years; first because of the kidnapping, my parents didn't want to let me out of their sight; and second because I was finally able to read decently enough to start classes. So at the lovely age of five, I was enrolled into the system.

Everyone, the children and their parents, were gathered in the courtyard in front of the school building. There were some people I recognized, not because I knew them, but because I knew the clan traits they owned (Hyuga, Uchiha, Aburame, Nara, Yamanaka, and Akimichi). There was a large board to the left, where the children were taking turns in checking their names, to see if they were accepted into the academy (though they probably were, seeing that we were at war, and needed every ninja we could get our hands on), and there was a small stage to the right of the main entrance, where I wager the Hokage would give a speech of some sort.

I arrived with my family in tow, and simply froze—this was it, there was no turning back, unless I wanted to disappoint people and make myself seem cowardly. I'd never seen so many people gathered together in one place, all of them with happy expressions on their faces (except, maybe, the Hyuga and Uchiha), and for the life of me, I couldn't understand why. The only thing I could feel was dread, and maybe a little resentment—because like it or not, I was being forced to become a ninja, not because of my parents, but for the sake of holding up appearances, not to mention I was supposed to serve a village I held no love for.

I was pushed into the direction of the board by ten-year-old Hiro—who's brown hair was reaching his shoulders, much to Mom's furious displeasure, and his height twice the size of mine—and received a slight nod from Hiruzen, before moving. I knew I'd been accepted, I was the village leader's daughter after all, and he'd been trying to enroll me ever since I turned three (my Mom almost killed him for suggesting it, though). I suppose what scared me was the symbolism of it all, and how I was quickly approaching my death, or the board, call it what you will.

I started looking for my name under the 'S' column. It didn't take long to find Sarutobi Kozue 302 written, and for some odd reason, I felt a bit of relief, which didn't make sense at all, seeing that I abhorred the idea of becoming a ninja, and thrusting my foot into an early grave.

I turned around and headed into the direction of my family, which were located between the Nara and Hyuga clan. There I recognized other Sarutobi children, around the same age range as myself, lurking the premises and sometimes talking to a kid or another.

There was a group being alienated by everyone further in the back; there weren't any adults with them, and they all seemed a pretty lost, and certainly looked out of place. Their clothes were hand-me-down, worn and torn in the oddest places. They hair was unkempt and unruly. They looked at the families with an underlying envy, and I couldn't blame them at all.

They were orphans, recruited to be ninjas, because no one would miss them if they died.

The mere thought made my stomach churn in disgust; they were probably only there because it was the only way out of that shit hole of an orphanage. I weighed the option of going up to those kids and try to engage in a conversation, but then I remembered that I was everything they weren't: a child with a family, clan, and status; they'd probably think I was mocking them, or pitied their situation. I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat, one I hadn't noticed before, and headed back to where my family was.

By the time Hiruzen was supposed to give his speech, all the children who were accepted into the academy were lined up in alphabetical order, while the parents stood in the back, trying not to interfere. The speech itself was rather anticipated; he went on to talk about the Will of Fire, the concept that love brings peace (which is a bunch of bullshit, in my opinion), and how we were supposed to act as leaf ninja, protecting civilians, and the younger generations etc.

I mainly stood in my place with a bored look on my face, which seemed to peeve Hiruzen, who kept stealing glances at me whenever he had the chance, which in return irked me. By the time the kids were getting restless, the speech ended and we were sent to our classes, mine being 302 (second classroom on the third floor).

The classroom was styled as one would in college, like bleachers, descending in levels. I was one of the first to arrive, so I had the privilege to choose a spot in the back (I didn't want to attract too much attention), and close to the window (just for the view). There was also the fact that it was a school for ninjas, so you didn't want to lower your guard and have your back be a blatant bull's-eye.

Placing my elbow on the desk, I rested my head on my hand and turned my attention towards the window. I felt the little chakra signatures filter into the classroom, but I didn't bother to memorize them, after all, half of them would give up along the road, and the other half would die on the battle field by the time they'd reach ten.

It scared me how very expendable we were.

And I wondered if I'd have the same fate as everyone else.

The teacher presented himself (though I don't think I ever really learned his name) and went on to call out each student's name on his list. He'd look up at each kid with their hand raised signaling their presence, to memorize their faces. When he went to call on my name, however, everyone turned around to look at me. I molded my expression to boredom, to mask my embarrassment at being stared at by forty-some kids. There were a lot of whispered going on like "that's her" and "I heard from my dad that blah, blah, blah,". Honestly, it's like they'd just never seen such a good-looking face like mine before.

I returned my attention to the window.

I didn't have many friends.

I can honestly say I didn't care too much for my fellow students, they were all dumb and childish, and all thought of me as a snobby little princess (which, for the time being, I won't deny). So, for the most part, I spent my days gazing out of the window, trying to will time to go by faster, though it never did.

But there's another reason why I didn't have friends.

I didn't want them.

Not because I was anti-social (though I admit to being so, but only a bit), I didn't want to open up, or rather; I didn't allow myself to do so. Because we were at war, and without sheer luck, none of us would survive to see the end of it (which absolutely terrified me, seeing that I'd already lost one life; I couldn't afford to lose another, especially so early on).

There were some people who tried to approach me, most of which I'd simply ignore. And because of that, they thought that I thought I was superior to them, as if I was better than them in every aspect. I'm not going to deny that; for the most part, I was better than all the students in my year, but only because I had an advantage; I had the mind of a thirty-some-year-old woman who was rather experienced in the act of war.

I was great at theory and math class and even history, but when putting it all to good use, I sucked. Bad. As if I'd calculate the angle of a tree and my target to shoot a kunai on the battlefield. Please. And it's not like I wasn't athletic (which I wasn't because I was a child, and hardly had the time to build up muscle and hinder my growth), or uncoordinated. My real problem is that I was taught a different way (how to fight; how to hold a knife, in this case a kunai; how to say this, do that etc.).

And as cliché as it may sound, old habits die-hard.

So I'd go home and train all afternoon because I had to be the best—it was just a feeling that I had where, in my other life, I didn't. It was the despicable feeling, or need, to prove something to someone. And in this case, it was my Dad.

He used reverse psychology on me, and as hard as I tried to resist, I couldn't. He'd say in a very (fake) kind voice that if I ever thought I wasn't capable of being a ninja, if I wanted to give up, I could. Now, from the start it was all a nice basket of bullshit, and I knew it too, but for some reason I had a nagging feeling, shouting at me, to prove him wrong, to rub my awesome accomplishments in his face; to have the last laugh.

So really what got me through the academy in two years flat was all because of my father and his weird parenting style.

To sum it up, I was the aloof kid who sat in the back and didn't talk, daughter of the Hokage, who had a problem with physical exercises. Might I add, miserably friendless? I'd like to think that those two years of my life were only fillers; bridges that connected to the larger picture. But I felt utterly alone, for the most part—I'd observe my surroundings and find that everyone was sporting a smile with their friends, and enjoying their childhood, while I wasn't.

I felt like I was wasting precious time—time that I'd never be able to get back—time to be a kid, for once in my life—time of peace, even though there hardly was peace.

In the beginning of my second year at the academy, however, I made my first friend: Shizune. Granted it'd been a few years since I had last seen her, but frankly I was glad to see a familiar face.

I didn't have a reputation of being friendly, so when I approached her, she was rather surprised, having heard the rumors of my cold attitude.

"You were born in my house," I said bluntly.

I don't think she had much to say to that, because she nodded slowly, as if trying to comprehend where the hell I was taking this conversation to.

"Right,"

"My Mom helped, she's a medic,"

Again with the slow nod, she seemed a bit shy.

"Did you just enroll into the academy?" I asked.

She shook her head. I suppose she wasn't a person of many words.

"Do you like it here?"

"Yes," she squeaked.

"Oh,"

Now, I'm not going to say that I was proud of our little conversation—I was damn right embarrassed by it, it's like all my social skills had been flushed down the toilet—but it was certainly a start. After that, I started joining Shizune for lunch, because she too didn't have many friends (she was a shy butterfly).

And somehow, we bonded over silence.

Another school day ended and I walked home alone in the late afternoon; no group of friends to slow me down or keep me company. The sky was purple with the setting of the sun, and being a particularly windy day, I huddled into my coat, occasionally shivering along with the leaves.

I'd gotten used to the stalking, and occasionally tried to convince myself that it wasn't harmful, only watchful, waiting to save me if something ever went wrong. Of course, in the back of my mind, I always reminded myself that it could also very well be an enemy ninja, of some sort, waiting for me to let my guard down. Either way, I suppose it was common routine for my shoulders to be as tall as my chin with stress and tension.

I turned a corner into a crowded street, taking my time to get home; Hiruzen and Mom were working late that day, Hiro was on a mission outside of the village, and Asuma was spending some quality time with one of my distant relatives (aka babysitting). I was in no a hurry to return to a dark, cold house.

A few kids ran my way and accidentally bumped into me, which I knew was anything but accidental. My book-bag fell to the floor, spreading all of its content in a foot's radius. For a moment I just stood there cursing those kids, and the shitty day I was having, not quite believing that it could get much worse. I gave a long sigh, remembering that standing like an idiot wouldn't magically collect my things back into their places, and crouched.

And then I felt some weird warm substance fall all over me, and heard a yelp in surprise. Along with my scattered belongings was a twenty-year-old man and countless containers of ramen.

Déjà vu, right?

So at the end of things, I was once again found myself sitting on a stool, in a ramen stand, eating said ramen for free as an apology (which, frankly, I didn't mind, despite the fact that I smelled like the food I was eating).

"We have to stop meeting like this," said Teuchi.

I gave him a half-smile and returned to my food.

As usual, the ramen was as good as the first time I'd eaten it (I'd actually been to Ichiraku's a few times since then). The things that did change, however, were Teuchi and his height. The boy was twice as tall as me (I was a pretty small seven-year-old), and probably twice as wide too. But his kind smile and disposition remained untouched.

It really hit me how fast time had flown by. And how it brings so many changes, as it had brought to me, even though I hate to admit.

We chatted a bit; I learned new things like how he had gone to the academy but dropped out in the final year, when he discovered his love for food, or rather, ramen. And I told him how I didn't have many friends at the academy. He asked me why, and I told him: "I don't want them," though I'm not sure I quite believed it.

I left after finishing my ramen and promising to visit more.

Arriving at the Sarutobi compound (much like all the other prominent clans, the Sarutobi have a small part of the village reserved for the housing of its members) I headed for my neighbor's house, where I'd pick up little Asuma.

The kid had grown in the last four years, and so far, I'd been able to keep the promise I made of protecting him. He took after Hiruzen in appearance, but personality-wise he was a little coo-coo—and stubborn—like me. Now, as a big sister I should be proud, and all that shit, but if anything, it annoys the hell out of me. Asuma's acts like me, and I can't help but think that one is more that enough—my parents would most likely agree, I mean, the only reason I don't get into more trouble at school is because the kids are afraid I'd tattle them to "my daddy", though I'd probably just kick their asses instead.

With Asuma holding my hand, we headed to our house (right at the end of the compound, furthest from the entrance), and opened the door to the empty house. I turned the lights on, led Asuma to the living room with some of his toys, and headed to the kitchen to make some tea (granted I preferred coffee, but I didn't want to start an addiction so early on in my life). I returned to the living room, grabbed my book-bag, which I'd left on the floor next to the entrance, and settled onto the couch, ready to start some homework.

The rattling of toys stopped abruptly and I looked up from my reading to see what was going on with Asuma. He was staring at me with a confused look.

I sighed and blinked slowly before asking, "What's wrong, Asuma-chan?"

"Don't you have friends?" he asked.

"Not really, no," I answered him honestly.

"Don't you get lonely, though?" he asked, his voice almost coated with pity.

"Nah," I said with a wolfish grin, "I've got you,"

"But I'm not enough," he protested.

"Asuma-chan," my gaze softened, "you are all I'll ever need".

That last scene was hell to write! I've been planning a scene with those two forever, but it just wouldn't come out the way I wanted it to.

So just to recap, there's been a four-year time skip (first day at the academy, where Kozue is five, to the time she rencounters Shizune, when she's seven). I just thought it's pointless to drag these things on for too long, because there's just so much time I have to make up for to catch up to the original story.

Thank you guys so much for the reviews, fallows, and favorites! They sure help brighten my day, sometimes more so than a newly aired episode of Game of Thrones (love!).

Thanks for reading,

CupcakeLoopy.