Unbeloved
It didn't seem like the aging process would occur over the next 4 years which evened out the age discrepancy that would have occurred when I finally signed the papers to enter into the academy. It seems like my realizations that I was a much different person was affecting my growth. I wouldn't have been able to know for certain because ninjas aren't scientists. Rather than growing, however, my hair and personal features began to change. Strawberry blonde gave way to a dirtier color, nearly losing any remnants of the birth color. Additionally, my features became sharper, although it wasn't until I looked into the mirror for a the first time in a few years that I realized this.
The past conflict with Kurama and the breaking of the seal made it impossible to generate chakra without growing whiskers. Although the seal looked to be there, anyone who had a good mind could tell that it was a ruse: a way to keep villagers quiet about the host of a demon. They treated it as such. Lashing out in anger only made me grow whiskers and gave me a one quick taxi into jail, so after the first time it happened, I remained composed for the rest of the time. I practiced hiding in the shadows and stole food. I was able to make tricks in the light with steel. I made hoards in forests surrounding the Memorial Stone and the Hokage Monument, which was ironic in light of the history.
I couldn't bring myself to talk to her, the demon. I still shook thinking about how that conversation might go, and I couldn't be confident in anything because she reads my mind. The irony was that even those thoughts were heard, but nonetheless, I was allowed to be ignored.
Thus another 4 years went by. It paints the short stories of discrimination, oppression, isolation and tribulation, adaptation, and eventual assimilation that may eventually be recorded. People saw so little of the Jinchuriki that many assumed I had died, knowing little about the tabs kept on me by the third. I want to think that I was allowed to roam free due to the injustices wrought upon me by merchants who refused to sell me food, but I imagine that an arrest would only cause more chaos and disruption than the current state of reputation with the village.
There's a sick humor to anyone that connects the dots; enrollment into the academy could be a very terrible idea. Yet considering the potential of the beast, it was allowed. I was excused from chakra lessons and any usage of chakra by Order of the Kage, and simultaneously was given private lessons in the afternoons, after lessons. I focused on standing out as little as possible because I was broken down by the past.
I held back on punches, sliding with hits and falling on purpose. At first, fights would continue because it looked very faked, but it improved over time until they called me the Possum, the master of playing dead. Subsequently, I was ranked last in combative skills. I fought to survive against the after school instructors because the cuts take their time as they bleed.
"Do not die until your task is complete."
These words continued to push me towards growing in strength, even as I grew weaker in morale. I hadn't looked in a mirror since the day I was Soul, but I saw myself growing thin. I ate what I could as a penniless orphan but somewhere along the road, money that was meant to support me no longer arrived. I continued to steal to the best of my abilities.
I also noticed that I was slowly forgetting who I was before I became Soul. At first I began to forget the names. I was always bad with the names of people. "To my rival," I would think and then spend an hour or so trying to remember his name until a stray bullseye would make me remember "Gary. Yes, his name was Gary." The next time it would be "Steven" and then "Nobunaga," and then I would give up all together at the point that the chain of past aliases would number the names I remembered from before the life. Then I forgot the faces. In my dreams, I would sometimes see flashes of the tall buildings and the cause of death. Soon the faces began to blur and then the buildings would fade out of the picture. I wouldn't forget the actual sound, but trauma tends to give distinctive points of reference so that the mind would know at least the basics if memory desired more space.
Even though the feeling was not mutual, I had a rival. He was an elitist type and a master of the arts, technique wise. I've seen him tire though. While I would be able to muster the stamina to keep punching at the dummies, he would get impatient and torch it using fire techniques. Unlike him, I was strong enough to break the core of the dummy with my hands and continue striking. However, the frustration at him grew during the times between the normal and the additional classes. He was loved by his birth more than his skill. Parents and students, alike, would fawn over him. I heard in passing that they look forward to bringing his rare blood and ability into the family. They were seeing him as a pawn, but unlike me, they would praise him. This made my teeth clench.
In the final week before the graduation exams, they announced that to rank taijutsu among the students, there would be a spar-off. The format was "king of the hill," meaning that the last place ranker would face the second to last place ranker. The winner would face the third to last. The winner of the would face the fourth to last, and so on until the facing the head. The exam would determine the final rankings among the class, as a last minute opportunity to raise your status. There were some complaints, but most of them were details rather than the whole: "I'd rather not fight." "You may surrender." "I can't believe we have to fight so many times." "You wouldn't have to if you were hire ranked." And so on.
I looked at the rankings, and they were fairly well crafted as is, aside from my own rank, which was forged out of the many times playing possum. At the top was my rival. Approximately 30 people were in between his match and mine.
But I really wanted to beat him up.