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Chapter 3

Sometimes, I feel as though I am suspended in cool, clear water. I can see things happening around me, but I make no move to disrupt or prevent those things from happening. Swimming in the cool water makes me look around slowly, assessing each and everything from a nice angle. People talk – talk with their mouths wide open. I stare at their faces, seeing them smile, frown or shriek or smirk. It makes me feel suspended. Then I just shut my eyes for a second, before opening them, and everything is clear once again.

Back in my hometown, there was this small brook on the opposite side of an old, parched field. I'd wheel my sister over the uneven ground whenever I could – lord knows the stuffy atmosphere of our flat couldn't be any healthy – stumbling and losing my grasp of her wheelchair's handle a few times along the way. We'd stop when we were just a few feet away from the blue, sputtering brook, and just breathe. Life was uncomplicated then. It was fairly simple.

When I glanced down to see my knuckles, they had a red patch glistening on them– not gory, no nothing like that. Something dull, not fresh – a dull, meaty shade of red. I met Uzumaki's wide, cerulean eyes, and gazed into them steadily. A drop of blood bloomed on his forehead. I mightn't have noticed it that time, but those cuts on his face were slowly glossing over – they were healing. I'd later look at the kid and stupidly wonder how that was possible. I felt suspended in an endless sea. I could hear nothing but the roar of water, when it was just blood rushing to my face with full force.

Someone hissed from behind and caught my arms – I think it was Sasaki. I couldn't see her face, but I knew that it reflected questions.

Allowing her to catch me for a second, I reined myself to the imaginary shore in my mind, away from the sea and onto the bank. Uzumkai was not on the floor anymore, and I guess he must've scampered off somewhere safe and out from the scrutiny of the public. The very same public who'd been just close enough to witness the backhands delivered to him by one of their own.

I think Sasaki dragged me to my bedroom, and no one followed me.

"Are you crazy?"

It took a few seconds for me to focus, and another couple to hazily observe my surroundings.

"This is not my room." I stated politely. Sasaki gave me one hardened look, before blurting out her question again. I shrugged, before turning to unbolt the woman's door and leave to clean the courtyard yet again. Sasaki caught my shoulder.

"Ton-san, what was that over there?" Her grip tightened, and I placed my hot temple against the panes of the door, cooling off for a while.

"No, it's nothing. You don't have to worry about it."

"Why'd you hit Hiro-kun?"

"Oh, I didn't like him."

I waited for the inevitable incredulity and her arched eyebrow, but it never came. What I got instead was an impassioned snort.

"You are suicidal, aren't you? He is very violent when he is drunk. Why did you go asking for trouble?"

Not meeting her eyes, I gripped the frame of the door harder, before exhaling. Flames of nervousness and inexplicable excitement climbed up the walls of my stomach, and I realized I had a way out. I could smell Sasaki's subtle sandalwood musk from behind. The lantern was dimly glowing above.

Sasaki faltered, looking at the ground.

"Besides..." She had a clouded, pinched look on her face. "It is not good to be around that child. He's a dangerous demon."

"A demon?" Feigning ignorance, I turned around with a frown. "I don't understand, Sasaki-san. Why did he hit a boy like that?"

The woman's eyes widened imperceptibly, before she licked her lower lips in tell-tale anxiety, gaze flitting about like a nervous butterfly. The folds of her yukata shook slightly in the breeze coming in through the open window at one corner of the room. It was starting to get a bit chilly.

"You mean, you don't know?" She whispered. "You don't know about the demon? Ton-san, I do not believe you for a second."

I shifted uncomfortably, getting edgy with each passing moment. I wanted to ditch Sasaki, maybe tell her that I had a long day and that I was tired. Maybe she'd understand me then. But, at the same time, I could work out an excuse. Losing the job over a fight like this could be expected if Hiro was the type to go off and whine pitifully into the waiting, bored ears of the higher ups at the civilian council who handled the orphanage with distaste. Kissing the job goodbye and landing into the pit of fire wasn't an option, not for me.

Determined to milk my excuse for all I was worth to secure my position, I caught Sasaki's palms, feeling jittery and cold-footed all of a sudden.

"Listen, uh, would you tell Hiro that it was an accident?" I pleaded, disgust raking down my spine untill my fitful breathing became more pronounced. Slimy people were all around me, slimy, conniving people who never failed to stoop to a chance of abusing children, Kyuubi or not. On the other hand, as chilling as it seemed to me, I felt that I could sympathize with the people who hated Uzumaki.

Most of those who sneered at the boy and regarded him as dirt which stuck to the soles of their sandals were adults like me or older, who had lived through the short period where Konoha had seen utter destruction with Madara's unleashing of the Kyuubi. Most of them, unlike me, had probably lost their relatives – distant or otherwise – to the rubble of buildings in the aftermath of the disaster or by fire which broke out at multiple places. I didn't know them personally; but I did know that hate and bitterness was the driving force behind their actions.

I had a feeling that I'd be subdued in front of Uzumaki if I had known a person who'd died that night a decade ago. I probably wouldn't have let the rage consume me enough to thrash the boy, but as horrible as it sounded, I am sure I wouldn't have stepped in like I did today.

Truth is, even though I know Uzumaki was just an innocent container – nothing more but a jar to store something as malicious as Konoha's ultimate weapon of mass destruction – an irrational part of me feared him.

Hey, I am the coward. I don't think you expected me to kiss Uzumaki's ass.

"…on-san?" Sasaki's delicate features hovered above me, and I observed her silently. Her beautiful, soft face morphed into something terrible and haunting for a second, before capsizing into something more gentle and familiar.

"It was just an impulse." I must've scared her with my lack of responsiveness, for her eyes were alarmed when she comforted me. "It was just an impulse. You hit the man on impulse. I'll go and apologize to him for you."

I think the confounding miasma of emotions I'd been feeling at that moment must've clouded my face. What was my next step?

"Ton-san?"

"I'm good." I hadn't realized that I was on the floor, leaning against the teak fusuma panels of the strong door. Sasaki's soft brown hair brushed against my face she got up, hoisting me up by my palm as she did. I allowed myself to me lulled by her ministrations, but try as I might, I couldn't forget that impassiveness on her face when she'd stared at Uzumaki's bloody fingers.

In the end, I didn't get myself entangled in a messy, legal mess, because it was Konoha, where people wouldn't bat an eyelash even if you got your fingers sliced off. Brawls between men were all too common, luckily. I met Hiro once or twice in the halls the following week, and Sasaki must've worked her charm on him for he gave me a rude grunt as he accidentally bumped past me. I almost lost a couple of plates thanks to that obnoxious move. Life went on, and I suppose I failed to mention that Uzumaki left the very day he was thrown about like a ball. While I hardly think it was because he wanted to, I do think he decided to leave because he was sick of his lifestyle at the orphanage. I wasn't surprised, but my heart ached a bit, for some incoherent reason.

"He's lucky the ANBU let him go." Suzuki said, stuffing his mouth with some last minute onigri. I sat down on a stool near the dining table.

"Hiro-san?"

"Yeah. Are you all right? I heard you got smashed in the face."

"I am good."

He grimaced.

"He must've had a death wish to go against tha' kid like a firecracker. Since last year, rules have been pretty strict about tha' boy."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, the Hokage doesn't want anyone laying a hand on him." He coughed. "If you ask me, tha' old man has some mental issues to be with the kid."

Suzuki's disregard for authoritative figures completely opposed Sasaki's puritan ideals. It entertained me.

"And why is that? Because of his 'problem'?"

He gave me a long look, toweling his hands.

"Nah, not because of that. The kid is a natural prankster, you know? Reminds me of tha' old Habanero."

Habenero...the word sounded familiar.

"Kushina Uzumaki?"

"Yea'. She was in my adjacent class at the Academy. Grew up to be a vicious thing. She an' the brat must share some history."

I hid a smile behind my cupped hands.

"I think that's it."

It was boring in the weeks following that, and my dark house was big and expansive. It was sparsely furnished, having only what I strictly needed and no more than that. Toying with the idea of returning to the immobile arms of my sister was dangerous, especially because I had drowned all my hopes in one big pool of impossibility. I couldn't go back – I had no explanation of how I'd ended up in this world.

Finding an explanation wasn't going to be easy, but I wasn't ignorant or blind enough to not consider a plausible reason as to why I'd ended up here. How was I to know if I was just in a long-term coma, having weirdly realistic dreams? A normal person would go crazy every once in a while, and what was the probability that I was one such person? Was I frothing at my sister's feet at this moment, mumbling Japanese and tossing and turning?

It wasn't easy to snuff out the spark of hope that came into existence whenever I had stray thoughts of going back home, but I was seldom idle to think about such things in my exhaustive work at the orphanage. Back home, when I was just Tanya, I was never entrusted with kids or their tireless pranks. While I can say that I am certainly not clumsy, I was awkward at handling children – painfully so.

Maybe it was because I grew up around people who had motives – most of them motivated by greed or extreme selfishness – that I expected children to follow the same pattern as adults. I never could adjust myself around their naïve smiles and laughs. The only things they were motivated by were their games, such as the lovely Ninja Dash, a warped version of Tag by which I'd been troubled compulsively on multiple occasions, and food.

Some kids were motivated to fight by becoming a member of the shinobi task-force, which was a bit disturbing to me. I was unfamiliar with the idea of child soldiers – for that was what genin and some chuunin were –being commonplace.

My first time being on the receiving end of a sharp kunai – not the blunt, toy ones that the orphanage had a tiresome stock of to keep kids preoccupied – wasn't how I'd thought it would go. Well, I had dreamt of these scenarios where my secrets would be exposed and the ruthless Danzo would emerge from the sleazy sewers and interrogate me mercilessly for the greater good of Konoha.

"Hey!" My exclamation went unnoticed, because another one of those damned shinobi contraptions tore into the loose sleeves of my traditional ensemble, before hitting the greying pillar facing the courtyard over to my left with a sound clunk.

Quickly ducking for cover, I slipped behind one of the numerous pillars, heart thundering valiantly. I had a feeling if Kishimoto had made me a heroine in Naruto, I'd have him bankrupt in no time at all.

A childish giggle sounded from behind, to my complete bafflement.

This first thing I saw were large brown buns – I don't mean the eatable ones – perched atop a small head, before seeing giddy chocolate brown eyes. Pink cheeks reddened when I scowled at the culprit, who of course had to be the orphaned weapons mistress. I never thought she'd be coming after me, even after hearing all of my colleagues' exasperated complaints about 'the girl in the second floor playing with weapons'. The child shuffled back when my scowl intensified tenfold.

"Tenten." I sighed finally, woefully looking at my shredded sleeves.

"Yes miss?" She squeaked.

"Nice shot."

Sasaki burst into the courtyard, nearly tripping over her wooden sandals.

"You are in!" she screamed, her voice almost bordering on hysterical. For a while, I just stared at the woman dubiously, and a few children playing hide-and-seek bolted out of her way as she ran towards me, her neat plait in disarray. I had no idea in nine hells what she was talking about.

I gestured around the huge courtyard with my broom.

"I was just sweeping-"

"Never mind that!" Sasaki interrupted, an excited gleam visible in her eyes as she covered the distance between us. "You've been selected."

I think the blood drained from my face on hearing that.

Oh, man. Not that. Anything but that.