Edit: 26/08/20

Win. Fight. Survive.

My mother always said life was like a piano; the white keys represent happiness and the black showed sadness. But as you went through life's journey, you'd see that both keys played together made music. Funny to think that was the case when I could bet there were songs which needed only black keys to make music. My life was probably one of those songs…

My eyes fluttered open, allowing me to see where I was. Shock washed over me for a second before I immediately came to terms with what was happening. Imagine having your face pressed against a windowpane while you're in a car, and the said car is falling off a bridge into a large body of water possibly over a waterfall...looking around spoke one simple truth to me: I was going to die here. How cruel it was to be falling to one's death with no way to avoid it. And on such an important day too. The day I went home after four years.

Of all the things that could have happened to me, I wouldn't have picked this. For the longest time, I hated how my life was a long string of misfortunes—problem after problem accompanying me everywhere I went. For that second, after the accident, I believed it would all end. I believed this death was the only white key to my rhapsody of black notes...

This was it. My life till this point was flashing before my eyes. The names I had heard, the books I'd read, the food I ate and the life I lived...all gone to waste over the paranoid thoughts of an old man, who wanted to get rid of his only son and seemed to be getting his way with it.

If karma was paying me back for all the things I'd done, it was being fair enough. The people who I stepped on, those pushed back for me to move forward, and those I framed were getting justice with my death. As the car fell to the turbulent stream at a turtle's pace, I couldn't hold a small smile—as much as I could smile anyway—the speed almost amused me. If only I wasn't going to be dead soon.

To the right, on the seat of the car was the blue uniform I was excited to wear. Excited was a strong word for me anyway, seeing as I was always so apathetic to everything. After four years in a clandestine military institution, I was to head back home and rest for a week before returning to begin service as a private. I faintly chuckled, remembering Dean and how he complained about the brevity of the break, after four years too.

Dean…

I closed my eyes as a light sigh escaped my lips, opening them once again. And with that, the scene all around me changed. I wasn't falling off a bridge anymore, I wasn't about to die, I probably still was, but at least I didn't have my face squished against a windowpane. I was in a room, a dorm room. Maybe this was how I was going to look back on my life—by living it.

Standing in front of me was a tall, dark man, a full foot taller than me. His hair was in a buzzcut as he was clad in a blue uniform. The same uniform I was about to wear.

This was before I left. Before I entered that death car…

"Stop being so uptight," he said, shaking my hand. "You don't salute a friend, Idiot."

"Friend?" A smirk, complementing my sardonic demeanour, ghosted its presence on my face as I spoke. "What happened to kiss-ass, short-stack, puppet master and all the other smart names you'd call me."

He shrugged, lazily shifting his dark eyes to the side with a bashful look. "I tolerate you, David."

Dean—on top of being blessed with a face, looking like the masterpieces handcrafted by the master sculptors of old—had the physique and build of what most considered an ideal soldier, plus steroids. Despite being my age and having such a thick build, however, he was placid and his voice could lull people to sleep at times. If only I had the mental workings to care about anything extraneous to wit and intellect, I might have given myself the liberty of being jealous. Too bad Dean was substandard in that aspect.

"Albert is waiting for me." I grabbed my last bag and turned to leave. "I'll see you in the future, Private Dean."

With those final words, everything around me turned back to my fall.

Well, that's dangerously close to the river. Just a little while longer and I'd be a stain on the river's floor, seeing as the car was now upside down. I should have told Dean how I thought of him as a friend too.

As the thought crossed my mind, I shook. I didn't have friends, and I never did; I had assets, and Dean was one of them, as was everyone else. My father, being the tyrannical dictator of a politician he was, always made sure he hammered this into my skull.

You don't win because you have friends, you win because you have assets. You win. Win...

Twisted and inhumane as it may have been, I ended up following such principle in my life. And when my assets became liabilities, I cut them off…

The old bat did all he could to get me on another level from my peers. From challenging me intellectually in games of chess, checkers—chess and checkers—to making sure I spent all my time in a library filled with books two centuries and older; he did all he could to make me...smarter. He claimed it was for my good, but I never believed him. It was because of him I couldn't stand staying at home, and it was because of him I left. I died because of him. Maybe I could live peacefully, knowing I'd never see him again. Oh, wait, I'm not going to live.

This is usually the point in people's lives where they think about all the things that made them who they were.

But what was so special about me. Intelligence was a common trait almost millions of people had, my physical strength was something pitiful in its own sense and my social skills were about as substandard as Dean's mental fortitude in the field of academics.

If I had to say what made me who I was, I'd say my Machiavellianism. Anyone you asked would say the same thing.

"He's a Fraud."

"He cheats to get his way."

And for the more obscene people, "He's an asshole."

Were they all wrong? No. But did I care what they thought about me? Also no…

Everywhere dissolved suddenly, leaving me to land on my feet instinctively, another memory making it's way to me.

As I stood on the podium, multiple soldiers applauded. The same day I left, before Dean called me his friend, and before I entered the car, I was given the top ranking in the school. I was the top cadet, with Dean and Reinhard, another student, who placed second and third respectively. Why did I get to the top? It wasn't my physical prowess, I'll tell you that. I may have been the best academically, as always, but the institution didn't care about that—enough proof with Dean, lacking any skill not related to his muscles, being second overall.

"Hey, did you hear?" A voice came to my ears. "He cheated his way to the top position."

"Huh? No way? How is it even possible?" Another voice spoke.

"There's politics everywhere. I'm sure he took advantage of it."

"How gross...and he calls himself a soldier."

"Disgusting."

There it is. The annoying voices talking about me like I can't hear them

The stage wasn't close to the crowd, yet I could hear all their chatter, all their gossips, and all their noise. They talked and talked like I couldn't hear them, but I didn't care. Everyone knew I cheated, but they couldn't do anything about it. Isn't that how they all are? Bark with no bite.

Everyone talks about how they fight, but honour means nothing if you don't come out victorious. It meant you needed to fight harder. You needed to fight. Fight...

"Look at him. Compared to the rest of us, he's way too scrawny looking to be the best soldier."

"Such a book nerd."

"Kiss-ass."

"Fraud. If he's that good at deception, he should become a spy. Leave the work to those with dignity."

You should all shut up. You'd do the same if you learned to cheat from a young age, if your three-square meal was topped with deceit, and if the air you took in had the repulsive odour of chicanery.

"They're talking about you." Dean's voice pulled me out of my thoughts; even with the different heights of our positions, he was still taller than me. "Are you okay?... I mean you deserve the insults, but how are you taking it?"

"What does it matter to you?"

"It doesn't." He shrugged, allowing his sleepy eyes space off for a second. "I'm asking because I know your situation. You're making all these enemies just because you want to handle your dad."

"Thanks for the reminder, blockhead. You don't need to tell me what I already know."

"Seems ridiculous to me." As usual, he brushed off my insults with ease. "Why ruin people's lives like this if it means you can get only one man. That's counterproductive."

"So you can use more than three-syllable words. If you don't comprehend why I'm doing this, that speaks volumes of your understanding, or lack thereof, of the world we live in. He, as a politician, has ruined more lives than you've seen in your sheltered life."

Dean shrugged, once again avoiding my quip as he turned to face the crowd again. "I just wanted to know how you were handling the taunts."

"As I always do, Dean. I'm not. They can say whatever they want. The fact remains, I'm the king of this institution, and they can't do anything about it."

"But I'm supposed to be the top student, not you," he dead-panned

"But I don't care."

My eyes snapped open again, pulling me out of the dream-like state. I was barely scraping the surface of the water now...perfect.

I never knew I'd be so eager to get on with death. Any normal person would have tried their best to escape from this predicament, but here I was, mulling over these thoughts of whether I was good or not...mostly not anyway.

What else was I supposed to do with these thoughts? Hope, by some slim chance, everyone I hurt would forgive me? No. I didn't care about their pain…

Part of me found it wry how I decided to follow the morals of a man who I wanted to beat, an enigma I wanted to remove from my life...the same man who killed me—or is killing me currently. Why did I get in the car despite the obvious signs? Why didn't I question the fact my father came to take me home when he had never cared for such? Why did I believe, by some sliver of a chance, he was willing to let me live so I could take him down? Whatever the answer was, I knew I had already made a grave mistake by entering this car; a mistake leading to the grave.

Now completely submerged in the water, the burning sensation of my liquid-filled lungs choked me. As if that wasn't enough for me to wish death sooner, the car was crushed, fixing its steel frame on my now-crushed legs. I couldn't run if I tried, couldn't breathe if I tried...I definitely wouldn't live if I tried. But the thing was, I didn't try at all. Rather, I was praying to be put out of my misery sooner than later. Having your lungs filled with water was a quick way for you to develop aquaphobia, and I'm telling you from experience.

As if the crushing of my skeletal frame wasn't enough to make me faint, nor was the choking of my lungs with water, it seemed like mother nature decided to have my head collide with a rock through the broken window; how considerate she was.

The images of my father's discussion with my chauffeur flashed through my mind. Whatever he told the stupid man must've been very convincing if he was able to convince the driver to kill me, committing suicide at once. The old bat's wickedness definitely knew no bounds if he could attempt to falsify my death as an Accident.

Images flooded me—no pun intended—as I slipped into my unconscious state. The images of my actual family. My mother and sister. They were the reason I was still breathing, why I was willing to go through four years of hell, and the reason I was willing to live through every one of those years. My mother, Mercy, was a caring yet strict soul—as any parent should be. What shocked me about her, aside from her being African yet taking the rubbish my father served her, was—she never seemed to be bothered by his crudeness. No matter the adversity, she'd keep telling my sister and me that everything was fine...it wasn't. My sister, Sarah, always laughed, showing no weakness even when she was taunted at school. She was a teenager, yet she had the mind of a toddler, something I envied her for. She tried to stop me from going to the institution, too bad I never once paid attention to her. Usually, having a powerful father came with the perk of respect, yet she had never once tasted such pleasure in all 17 years of her life.

Suspended in the darkness of my mind, the feeling came to me. Suddenly, I didn't want to die again. I wanted to live for the sake of my family—to protect them from the clutches of a tyrant. Not only would my passing away cause them more grief than ever, but it would make them defenceless. Never in my life have I felt the urge to live so much before. Not for myself, but for the sake of those I considered family.

I wanted to stay alive through the drowning, through the bone-breaking, through the crashing of the rocks and the pain. I wanted to live. I wanted to survive. Survive...

Why do I deserve to live? I don't. If anything I should die sooner, but I don't want to…I would miss my mother's nagging. She'd always complain about how much of a slob I was, yet I'd shrug her off and dress like I wasn't one, as usual. She'd try introducing me to her friends' daughters, yet I'd run away, fearing coming into contact with any female aside from my family. And even when that'd happen, she'd defend me from their claims of me being a misogynist. To me, she was the best mother…

I would miss my sister's contagious smile. Even with everything happening around her, she'd always laugh at the most arbitrary things, joking about how I was a wimp with girls and how I'd never find love. As siblings always did, she'd mess with me but put everyone who tried to mess with me down as well. She gave me nicknames all the time, much to my displeasure, but I never stopped her from doing such. To me, she was the best sister…

What was next for me? I didn't know.

As I slowly drifted in and out of consciousness, one thought remained strong in my mind...

I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to die. By some fragment of hope, I believed my chants would work. I may have been a realist, much to my mother's dismay, but I was willing to bet my survival on hope rather than my pain threshold. Because I knew, even though I was a soldier with supposed physical endurance, not a lot of people could survive a 400-metre drop from a waterfall.

As I shut my eyes from the world, hoping to open them in the near future, I receded into my deep slumber. All I could do was bet on the next time I woke up, which would be a very long time from that moment...

My adventures wouldn't be a gallant tale of a hero who changed the world through his strong morals and even stronger body. Rather, it would be the shrewd account of a sly and devious youth suffering from the plague of the seven deadly sins—and every malevolent quality of the dark triad...A tale of how to go home.

Hello, everyone. I welcome you to what I hope will be a multitude of chapters. I decided to go with the typical 'sucked into the naruto world fic' but with a lot of twists. I do hope you enjoy and don't forget to review. I always welcome opinions. With that, I bid you a farewell.

Queen of Spades.