Chapter 6

The Soft Master spends a full two hours with me, and gives me such a workout that I don't even get the chance to ask him about his talk with the Hard Master. It's probably just as well – I would have almost certainly betrayed the fact that I heard some of it.

I have dinner with the rest of the clan, for the first time in months. I end up catching up with my younger cousin, who is much better company, at the moment, than my exhausted and cranky brother. She reveals to me that the Hard Master hasn't given him a minute of rest all day.

I go straight to the shooting range after dinner. I can imagine my uncle telling me that if I'm going to train, I should work on my weaknesses, not my strengths, but it occurred to me during the day that the best I can hope for is to not fall too far behind my brother when it comes to combat or sword-play. If I don't want to be second best at everything, my best bet is to improve my specialties even more. If nothing else, I'll at least have the excuse of being a specialist when the other clans find out a student can defeat me in a duel.

Besides, without a teacher, improving what I already know is the only thing I CAN do. At least, this particular training is like shooting two birds with one stone because I have found a way to train in both archery and seeing ear at once: I'm shooting rodents from behind walls. It implies shooting with enough strength for the arrow to go through the wall, enough precision to hit small moving targets, and locating said targets without seeing them.

I only have time to get my gear before I hear my brother slouching in my direction. The Hard Master really must have been tough on him.

I turn towards him and motion him forward, more to let him know I don't mind his presence than anything else: he was already coming this way anyway.

"Have you ever done endurance training with your uncle for a whole day?" he asks, sitting down heavily with his back against the wall where the paper targets are hung.

"He was never my main teacher," I reply. "I think the worst I've been through was the early seeing-ear training."

"Did you really wear a blindfold for two years?" he asks me.

"Well, it was actually blacked out goggles, but yes."

"And you were supposed to cheat, but you didn't?"

I scowl at the memory.

I'm so excited to finally be starting my advanced training that my hand shakes as it pushes the partition to the Seeing Master's dojo aside.

I've been told he would hear me coming just fine even if I didn't talk and that although I would announce my presence to anyone else, doing so to him would be insulting. I understand perfectly: I've always found it completely silly to call out that you were there whenever you entered a room. Whoever is in the room will have heard the partition and will be able to hear your heartbeat, breathing and steps as you actually enter. Having a Master that dispenses with such a useless tradition makes me all the more eager to start my training.

The Seeing Master turns towards me.

"Ah, Tommy. Come in," he says.

I babble some greeting phrase and a thank you for accepting to teach me.

"I'm not sure you'll feel so grateful in a few hours time," he says. "Do you know why I was asked to teach you, instead of one your uncles?"

I notice at that point that not only is he facing me, his face is pointing straight to mine. It's like the empty eyes are actually drilling right into mine. The thought makes me swallow nervously. Even if he has been told or has guessed how tall I am, how is he managing to 'look' straight at my eyes like that? Isn't he supposed to be completely blind? I shake my questions away to answer the one he posed me.

"Father told me that you would be a better teacher for me, Master," I reply. I realize as I say it that it wasn't much of an answer. My new sensei confirms this by sniggering.

"Indeed," he says. "Now why would he think that? Do you have any idea?"

"N…no," I admit.

"You didn't announce yourself when you came in. I'm guessing you were told not to? Someone explained to you I'd hear you come in just fine even if you didn't say a word?"

I nod before I can catch myself. I mentally call myself an idiot and answer out loud.

"Yes, Master."

"Did you notice I also recognized you? Granted, I was expecting you, but I assure you I know who's nearby at any time, whether I expect them to be there or not. Additionally..."

He walks up to me, stopping right in front of me. He crouches so that his face is right in front of mine.

"... I can do this," he finishes, touching the tip of my nose with his finger, without ever feeling his way on my face.

I'm impressed, but I still don't understand what it has to do with his teaching me.

"I use a technique called the seeing ear," the Seeing Master says, staying at my level.

I find the blind stare very disturbing.

"I also use my other senses a lot," he continues. "Not only can I hear you and deduce where your mouth and nose are, I can smell you, and I can feel the air currents around you when you move or when you breathe so close to my own face. The air is so still today that I was even able to detect it when you nodded earlier. Being blind is not nearly as serious a handicap as most people who can see have: they rely on their eyes so much they completely neglect their other senses."

I don't know what to say so I just stay quiet.

"You still have no idea why you're here, do you?" he asks. "You're a bit dense, aren't you? Unless... can you hear my heart beat right now?"

I blink, thrown off by the quick change from an interesting conversation on using all your senses, to an insult, to a silly question. What's the point of asking me that?

"Of course I can, Master," I reply. I realize a second too late that this wasn't the most polite way to answer, but thankfully, he doesn't look upset.

He gets back up and walks back to the other end of the room, about 20 paces away from me.

"How about now?" he asks. "Can you still hear my heartbeat?"

I'm starting to feel like we're wasting a lot of time. Am I not supposed to be training?

"Yes, Master," I reply. "Shouldn't I?"

"As I expected, you obviously think I'm asking you stupid questions. You never realized most people can only hear a heartbeat if they stick their ear right on someone's chest or pulse point," He replies. "You just assumed everyone could hear just like you."

My eyes widen. Did he just tell me most people are practically deaf?

"You're kidding," I blurt out before I can help myself. "Aren't you, Master?" I add, trying to undo the disrespect.

"No, I'm not. You were sent here because your hearing is exceptional, which makes you an ideal student for the seeing ear technique. I'm a Master of this technique, therefore I shall teach you. When I'm through with you, you will be able to identify people based on their heartbeats and breathing patterns; you will be able to fight in complete darkness with as much ease as in broad daylight; you will be able to tell exactly where something thrown or shot is going simply by the sound it makes through the air... all that in addition to the more traditional training I will also put you through. Be warned, however, that you won't enjoy this training."

I never expected real training to be pleasant, so the warning doesn't worry me at all. Besides, I can't wait to be able to do the things he's just told me about, so I don't care how hard it's going to be. He seems to be waiting for a response, so I give it.

"I'm ready, Master," I say.

He smiles.

"Good. Go get the bag that is next to the entrance," he orders.

I get the bag and start bringing it to him.

"Open it," he says before I get close to him.

I do. Inside the bag is a pair of blacked-out goggles.

"The first step in your training is to break you of the habit of relying on your eyes. You will learn to use your other senses, including, and in your case, probably almost exclusively, your hearing. You will wear these at all times, starting now. You are forbidden to remove them except in case of most extreme emergencies."

I see now why he warned me this wasn't going to be fun. It's my job as a student to do what my sensei tells me, however, and I intend to do a good job. Besides, I've already said I was ready to start; I can't back out now. I put the goggles on, adjusting them until I can't see anything at all.

"Good," the Seeing Master says. "Now, perform the early kata number 1 for me. I know you're up to number 35, but you'll almost certainly have more trouble with them when you can't see."

And so, my training starts. At the end of the lesson, I've fallen way more often than I care to admit, but I'm up to early kata number 5 and being in the dark barely feels strange at all.

"Remember that you must keep the goggles on at all times, not just during training," my sensei reminds me. "If anyone questions it, refer them to me."

"Yes, Master. How long...?"

"Probably two or three years," he says.

I assume he's kidding.

He wasn't. For two years, I only took the goggles off when instructed to do so, for about one hour twice a month. This regular "break" was a precaution against the possibility that I would lose the use of my eyes from not using them for so long. I found out after my training was complete that I was the first trainee in thirty years to be given official breaks. They were usually not necessary because almost every kid going through this training cheated; it was expected. At the time, I felt like the biggest fool in the world: I had desperately wanted to cheat on several occasions, and I had only resisted the temptation out of fear the Seeing Master would refuse to continue teaching me. And it turned out he wouldn't have because I was SUPPOSED to cheat.

I hated those two years, but at least…

"It paid off," I hiss.

To demonstrate, I shoot a squirrel on the other side of the wall my brother is leaning against. The rodent falls to the ground with a thud.

My brother shoots up and glances over the wall before turning back to me, looking sick. I raise an eyebrow: he can't be that squeamish after being a ninja for so long, so what's the matter?

"You killed it just to show off?" he asks me. He sounds genuinely disgusted.

"No," I reply, keeping my voice as calm as I can. "It's training. I started before you left to show off. I didn't realize you had a deep affection for rodents."

"You need to murder animals to train?" he flips out.

"Murder? It's a rat with a fluffy tail!" I cry out. "It's not murder, it's pest control!"

My brother sighs and shakes his head.

"What was the point?" he asks me. "It's not like you needed to shoot it to know you knew where it was, is it?"

I roll my eyes at him. I don't care how tired he is, he's being stupid.

"It's target practice," I say, making no effort to hide my irritation and talking as slowly as I would if he spoke no more Japanese than he did before he started training. "I need to reach a point where my hands can follow my ears just as well as they can my eyes."

"They ALREADY can," he snarls. "You're just doing this to stroke your ego."

The accusation stings a lot more than I can explain. He's wrong, he's completely wrong: I'm doing this because I need to stay the best at something. I need to not be completely outclassed by him because I'm expected to be the best in the clan. I'm the heir, I can't be second best to a student at everything!

How dare he say something like that? Who is he to judge me? He's just a student, and I'm the third highest ranked member of the clan. If not for me, he wouldn't even be alive, how DARE he lecture me on killing a garden pest? I need to say something before I explode.

"You're wrong: this has nothing to do with my ego," I hiss. "Maybe it has to do with yours? Maybe you can't stand to see me do something you still can't do, something you'll never be able to best me at?" The thought just occurred to me, but I'm automatically certain that I've hit the nail on the head.

He completely ignores the point.

"You're killing for nothing! Didn't you get enough blood on your hands in the war?" he cries out.

Part of me does realize that THIS is what this whole argument is really about: he can't understand that I'd kill without absolute need after having to kill so many during the war. That part of me, however, is completely drown out by my anger. I will only become fully conscious of what he said and what it meant later that night, once the argument is long over.

Right now, I'm too furious to even register what he said, other than the certainty it's not an admission to being wrong or an apology.

"ENOUGH!" I yell. "You will NOT question my training methods!"

"Fine, 'Young Master'," he snarls. He brushes past me, stopping short of shoving me out of his way as he leaves the shooting range. I snarl at his back.

I meet my new client the following morning, and he provides a complete distraction from the previous evening's argument.

Hours later, I still can't get over how disturbing he is. I suppose I should be grateful that this is the first time I have such a strange client. That smooth, polished metal mask of his is downright creepy: he doesn't even have eye-holes. It's obvious he can see, however, and I've amused myself for the past little while trying to guess how. There are a few possibilities - the metal could be like a two-way mirror, or actually act as a video camera somehow, just to name the first two that popped in my head, but I'm already bored with trying to figure it out.

The mask is not the only thing about him that makes me uncomfortable either: he hisses. I don't care that his organization is named after a snake, there's just no excuse for sounding so annoying. And just to make things worse, he can't seem to shut up. I've been told I'm chatty, but I don't hold a candle to him. He's been blabbering on about how the American Government doesn't support free enterprise for the past hour.

"But enough about those hypocrites," he says. "Tell me about you."

I snap back to reality and try to think of something to say about me that won't invite more questions.

"I am a ninja," I say with a shrug. I'm hoping he'll get the hint that I don't want to talk about myself.

He laughs as though that was the funniest thing he has ever heard. Amazingly, his laugh somehow manages to be even more annoying than his voice.

"I know that!" he eventually cackles. "Although the other clans I've approached before hiring you seem to think you and the rest of your family are more like samurai wannabes."

I shrug. It's an old jibe, and as far as insults go, being called too honourable is hardly devastating.

"I also know your name is Tommy Arashikage," he continues. "And your mother was American. Your father died while you were in the war and you've taken on his mercenary duties despite not being interested in this line of work. I also know that you are considered the best in Japan - except maybe for that student of your uncle's."

He stops, waiting for me to answer something. He looks like he hopes I'll be shocked by how much he knows. I am a bit surprised he knows how good my brother is, but I'm not going to let him know that. I shrug.

"If you already know about me, why ask?"

"Because I want to know more!" he answers irritably. "You're supposed to do whatever I ask you, right?"

"No," I answer. "I will protect you for the extent of your contract with my clan. You did not hire a servant."

"You're no fun," he whines.

I shrug again. He says nothing for a moment, which gives me the chance to pick up something I had missed: a group of nearly fifty people, standing right outside the building.

"Would your enemies come after you as a large group? About fifty?" I ask my client hurriedly.

He jumps out of his chair and frantically looks around.

"Yes," he hisses. "They're here?"

"Downstairs," I confirm. "We should go."

I'm already heading for the door. I turn to make sure he's following and hold back a sigh: he's not.

"We can escape by the roof," I explain. "Follow me."

"I have an important meeting here in an hour. I don't want to leave this place. Fight them off," he says with the usual hissing.

My eyes narrow in a scowl.

"You will be safer away from here, so I'm taking you away from here."

"What are you going to do, carry me away kicking and screaming?" he cackles. "I have full confidence in your abilities to hold off a few men. We're staying."

I briefly consider picking him up and dragging him away, as he says, kicking and screaming, but our brief conversation has already killed our chance for escape. Whoever is after him is trampling up the stairs.

I only have time to put myself in position facing the door, right in front of my client, before a group of armed men comes crashing in. My initial plan was to attack them right away, before they get their bearings, but I'm too shocked to move for one second, and it's all it takes for them to conclude we're not armed – my weapons are concealed - and to lower their own weapons.

The reason for my shock – my former sergeant - steps forward and looks right past me at my client.

"Hiring local kids as bodyguards, now, Cobra Commander?"

He doesn't recognize me, which is a relief. I do believe this is the first time I'm glad my full uniform, the one that I wear on missions where my clients want it to be obvious that they have hired a ninja, includes a mask.

"He's no mere kid," my client says. "This boy is a ninja and has fought and defeated larger groups than yours all on his own. I suggest you back off."

I must admit, he's got nerve. Sadly for him, he's quite wrong to think there's any possibility I'm going to injure soldiers on his behalf. If my former sergeant is here chasing him, it's because he's wanted by the American military, most likely for good reasons.

Sergeant Wilkinson – or whatever his rank is now, I can't tell because he's not in a standard uniform - turns towards me.

"Listen kid, you speak English?" he asks.

I nod. I don't want to talk; I don't want to chance his recognizing my voice. I've never been more ashamed and yet, I know that I'm going to have to do even worse than just happen to be here before this is over. I'm sworn to protect my client, so I'm going to have to help him escape capture.

"This man is the head of a terrorist organization called Cobra," Wilkinson informs me. "Cobra is responsible for hundreds of deaths already, and we're not going to let this guy get away. If you try and fight us, we're probably going to have to kill you."

If I wasn't so mortified at having such a person as a client, I would have found that threat laughable. I could have killed most of them during the time it took him to tell me this. It's not like bullets are that difficult to dodge, especially when only two shooters have a clear shot at me that doesn't go through some of their own guys.

I make a show of swallowing and looking hesitant while standing my ground. I need him to keep talking a bit more while I figure out how to get my client out of here alive without killing any of the soldiers.

"Look, kid," my old sergeant says. "We know ninjas are illegal, but we honestly don't care. We're not going to turn you in. Just go away and let us do our job. I'm sorry for your contract, but you're not going to get paid either if we end up having to put a bunch of holes in you."

I'm barely listening to him, concentrating instead on the layout of the apartment, the building, and the quickest escape route – not to mention the best way to silence my client without harming him. Wilkinson is looking at me impatiently. I'm about to risk saying something when my client saves me the trouble.

"What are you waiting for? Attack them!" he hisses.

I shake my head. This seems to satisfy Wilkinson, who smiles at me.

"That's a good lad. Alright, step aside."

I do, and in the same motion, I throw a smoke bomb between my client and the soldiers. I run back to my client, grab him and whisper in his ears.

"I will honour my contract with you by helping you escape. If you cause them to find us, I'm out of here. Don't answer, you can vent at me later."

While I was telling him this, I've picked him up and jumped out the window, which was mercifully opened.

My eyes widen before I roll them at myself. The Hard Master is right, I AM foolish. Anybody could see this window was opened, including the soldiers. And since they saw it, they prepared against my client escaping this way by leaving a good thirty men right below it. The real stinger is that I knew the soldiers who came up the stairs weren't all there was, and if I'd only thought to listen out for the rest of them, I would have easily located them.

I can really be a complete idiot sometimes. I do have enough sense, however, not to waste my time rehashing past mistakes. I brush the matter off my mind and concentrate on how to proceed from here.

I twist in mid-air and kick off the side of the building to change my trajectory and to face my opponents. I shoot shurikens at their weapons and hands with my free hand until I land. The obvious thing to do would be to bounce right back up and attack the group with my katanas, but if I did that, my client could easily be taken out while I'm fighting. Unlike the last time I battled such a large armed group, my current client does not have the option to run off and hide while I take care of the attackers, and it's debatable whether he'd have the sense to, anyway. On top of that, I killed the attackers last time, which meant the group got smaller and smaller, and thus easier to deal with, as the battle went. There is absolutely no way I'm doing that this time.

So, instead of attacking, I throw another smoke bomb, secure my hold on my client, jump over a couple of soldiers while they scramble for their heat-vision goggles and run right past them. I turn on the next street and run into the first public building I see.

It's a restaurant, which is perfect: they almost always have a back door. Still dragging my client, I storm into the kitchen, knock off a few things for chaos, just in case we're being followed more closely than I'd like, and throw myself against the door.

The door refuses to budge. I glance at it and curse loudly: it's an emergency exit only door, with a fifteen seconds delay and a trigger for the fire alarm. I keep the pressure on but quickly look around, hoping for a window or a big air vent. The one vent is too small to get into and the only windows are in the main part of the restaurant, which is already filled with soldiers, all of them aiming at us again. The cooks look like a bunch of deer caught in headlights, staring back and forth between myself and my client and the fully-armed soldiers.

I curse again. I don't want to fight soldiers, especially not for this client. I throw my last smoke bomb at the smoke detector and the door finally opens, accompanied by an ear-splitting siren.

I can't help wincing and my eyes immediately fill with water. I squeeze out with my client, shoving him out with my elbow because both my hands are pressed against my ears in a vain effort to dim the noise. As soon as he's out, he steps away from me and stays there. I grab his arm, regretfully uncovering one of my ears, and try to drag him away. He digs in his heels and starts hitting me.

"What are you doing?" I scream. I can barely hear myself over the siren. "Don't slow me down, run!"

He says something I can't quite make out over the alarm, but I pick up enough to understand he wants to see me fight.

Oh, I wish I could just kill him. Right now, however, I have to deal with the soldiers pouring out of the restaurant's back door.

They yell something at me, but the siren is getting even louder and I can't hear anything else. I need to get away from here: the noise is really hurting me, it's going to make me deaf yet. I feel panic taking hold of me at the thought of losing my hearing.

I take out my katana and face the soldiers, who take out their guns. My head is ringing, I feel like someone is stabbing me in the ears, and my eyes won't stop watering.

Won't that siren ever stop?

I run to the middle of their group and get to work, aiming at their weapons and hands. They can't shoot me without shooting their comrades, and they have to give me their attention because they think I'll kill them otherwise. My client is getting his wish.

Within seconds, they don't have weapons anymore: even if they picked them up, there's not enough left of them to be of any use. I manage not to kill any of them, but I have to wound a few of the more stubborn men.

Now that they're weapon-less and temporarily stun by their surprise and injuries, I stop long enough to locate the highest ranked member. They're not in uniform, so I have to take a guess. I settle on the man who seems to be thinking hard about what to do next.

Thankfully, Wilkinson is still not here. Even better, the siren finally stops. My ears are still ringing, probably will for days, but I can kind of hear again and my eyes finally stop watering.

"Go away," I say to my pick for the leader of the group. "I can't let you have him today. Just come back tomorrow and I won't be in your way."

"Like I'm going to leak out my position tomorrow as well," my client sniggers.

My eyes narrow. I jump out of the group of soldiers surrounding me, grab him as uncomfortably as I can and we take off. He's laughing his head off and the soldiers don't bother to follow us, calling for reinforcements instead.

Once we're far enough away to be safe, I throw my client on the ground. He's still laughing.

"Still two hours to your contract, Mr Ninja!" he cackles.

"No. You waived my obligations to you by deliberately putting us in danger. I hope you enjoyed the show."

I'm gone before he can reply.

Author's note:

In case you're wondering, Sgt Wilkinson is also known as the GI Joe Stalker.

This whole chapter is almost completely outside established continuity. The only part of it that actually happened in the comic book is the squirrel being shot, and the ensuing argument is not shown – we're just told the incident creates a rift between the two friends.

Can anybody else picture Storm Shadow (in full Cobra gear despite the anachronism) pointing at the wall, shouting "SQUIRREL!", or is it just me?

If you're curious as to why I made up this whole contract with the Cobra Commander, all I can say now is that I had four reasons to do it (or more precisely, doing it was an efficient way to satisfy four story needs), so it wasn't just pointless padding.