Feb 2, 1 AK
I gazed flatly at the faded brown wood of the training log buried standing upright in the backyard of the new house in the Uchiha compound and fingered the pouch hanging from my shorts absently. The early spring wind whistled gently around the edges of the building and sent a tiny chill up my spine even in the late afternoon even as it rustled the feeble green pushing up amongst the dead patches of the poorly tended lawn.
Hold the kunai parallel to palm, bring hand back to opposite shoulder, flick arm forward, use wrist to aim following smooth arc, release kunai while tip is pointing at target. Repeat until too dark to see.
Mother was somewhat reluctant to give me detailed instruction in the ninja arts so young but there was no more time to be content, only time to survive. Her few tips on form and technique formed the basis for my new existence and practice consumed every waking moment not devoted to bodily maintenance. I had little natural aptitude for the ninja arts, so I made up for it with repetition.
Breath in, curl fist with thumb out from core, fist held slightly above waist height, push out while twisting arm till palm is parallel with the ground, extend the punch through the target, finish breathing out. Retract fist one while mirroring with fist two. Repeat until bleeding.
I was on a time limit, a hard one. I had seven years, and if I was not strong, if I was not competent, if I could not prove my value, then I would die with the rest of my clan. Just two years younger than Itachi, and I was already doomed.
Breath deep, keep shoulders back, keep eyes on the road ahead and off feet, maintain an even stride length, take small sips of water. Repeat until unconscious.
Tick tock, goes the clock, now we all must die.
Certainly my father would perish. He was very proper, Uchiha Genryusai, very much a model Uchiha. Not a bad man, not at all, though I did not see him quite enough to form a solid opinion of him. He was a tokubetsu Jounin, though from what I understood not actually an exceptional one. He only managed tokubetsu because of his proficiency with Genjutsu, and he only possessed that because of the Sharingan. Mediocre chakra reserves, and no notable traits besides his eyes.
My mother was, as I said, my rock. Uchiha Yuki had retired at the rank of Chunin to breed up the next generation, as is proper for Uchiha ladies who have awoken their Sharingan, and she helped me greatly during the earliest years of training.
"No, Hiroki, like this, keep your elbow in tight while you punch. If you push out too much you lose power. Okay?"
"Yes mother. Like this?"
My knuckles thunked heavily into the wood. I ignored the slight sting and looked back to mother for correction, my eyes wide and observant as I searched for motions approval in the shifting folds of her lavender kimono.
"Good. Like that. But don't push yourself too hard, I don't want you coming home with bloody hands again."
I smiled faintly at her and she returned the gesture with a smile of her own, the tilt of her head allowing her hair to send long shadows over her face, giving the alabaster skin a somber caste. We both knew it was vain to hope that I would stop before injury.
The one arguable downside to spending so much time at home was the reputation I built among the other Uchiha children. Momma's boy, Training freak, Weirdo. Fortunately their attempts at interaction were minimal so I was spared much in the way of teasing.
"Hey, you wanna play ninja with us?"
The boy in dark blue clothes was met with only a blank black stare from my position beneath a tree in one of the compound's smaller parks, eyes grown accustomed to the undistracting pink of my own hands forced to blink as they reset. It was a more or less pleasant spot to train my chakra for most of the year due to the slightly clammy sage-green shade of the trees. Provided I wasn't being bothered by toddlers. His companion tugged on his sleeve, pulling him away from my spot.
"Not him; Hiroki's a weirdo. Let's ask Satsuki."
The trio of raven haired children ran past me as I continued to sit in a lotus position, feeling out my chakra system. I didn't have any friends inside my clan, or to be honest, outside it either. Why bother getting chummy with pre-corpses?
The only member of my very extended family that deserved, or indeed received, any of my respect and attention was my mother.
"Where did you want the folded clothes?"
She glanced up from the dishes in the sink with a little surprise, pushing back a few stray locks of hair with the back of a soapy hand cleaned in the next moment on her sky blue apron inscribed with the Uchiha fan.
"Oh! Did you empty the drier? Sweetie, you didn't have to do that, I can take care of it."
I blinked up at her over the stack of neatly folded clothes, the basket stuffed with clean shirts in the clan's favored blue and black in a pile almost taller than I was.
"I don't mind. I'm too tired to practice today, so I thought I could help you."
Her smile sent a thrill of warm pleasure through me, even tinged as it was with an expression of chastisement at my tacit admission of overwork.
"You can put it at the foot of my futon, okay? Thank you, Hiroki."
I tried in all things to be respectful of her wishes, though I could not quite be everything she wanted for doing so would have meant far less time to train. Still, aside from the disagreement over training, I was a model child. Quiet, polite, helpful. Whenever I was too sore to train for another day I would spend time with her, helping to cook, or asking her to read me stories; anything to brighten her day.
Much as I loathed it, I could not save her. She was loyal to her husband, and therefore the clan, and so she would die. Still I clung to her while I could, and tried to ensure that her experience of motherhood was a good one. She would be gone all too soon.
. . .
It was surreal, seeing all these people and knowing that soon they would be dust and memory. The Uchiha cremated their dead, and it became hard for me to not smell smoke when I looked at the black haired figures passing me on the street, and the taste of ash was ever present on my tongue on the rare occasions I spoke to them.
I could never eat more than a few bites in the presence of my extended family without throwing up. It happened often enough that they took me to the doctor, who of course could find nothing wrong. How could I tell them, how could I explain, that I couldn't look at black hair, black eyes, and pale skin without food turning to so much charred flesh in my mouth?
Combined with my obsessive training, my antisocial behaviour was noted as worrisome, but not counterproductive, by the older members of the clan. The Uchiha prized strength above everything, and if nothing else, in this way I was similar to my new family for strength was what I sought above all.
Every thudding strike against the training post or pounding footstep on the jogging path was a beat of the mantra in my head and heart, and every scrape and bloody bandage proof of my commitment to survival.
I must be strong.
If I am not strong, I will die.
Strength opens doors.
These doors will let me escape.
No pit is too deep to sink to.
No mountain is too high to climb.
Anything that I can do, I must do.
Strength is the reward for my effort.
With strength, I can be free from fear.
I must be strong.
I was so afraid.
. . .
A/N: Don't worry about the timeline too much; if it matters when something happens relative to another thing the segment will start with the date.