I fingered the high collar of the blue t-shirt mother had bought for me with a blank expression of contemplation, digits sliding over the embroidered uchiwa to pick nervously at individual stitches.

The high collar was traditional amongst the Uchiha, or possibly merely fashionable; I wasn't sure and didn't care to investigate further. At any rate, it was a strong identifier of outsider status for none of the children in the village proper wore such things. Without the distinctive clothing I could almost pass for a civilian. The Uchiha were a little bit paler than average, but the general stock of the elemental countries, despite outliers like Naruto, was stereotypical asian: black or dark brown hair and black or dark brown eyes.

Ninjas threw a huge wrench in that with their weird bloodlines, like the Yamanaka's pupil-less eyes, but they were the minority. The super majority of humans were fairly average in appearance, and I was within one standard deviation of that norm being a relatively banal specimen of the Uchiha's black on pale on black.

...Save for the shirt. An affectation. An inconvenience. A mark of otherness which set me apart from the rest of Konoha and the other shinobi.

That just wouldn't do.

I reached into my pouch for a kunai and made a few, small, careful cuts; nothing blatant as sabotage or intentional damage, all the sort of marks which could be written off as training wear, but which would eventually accumulate on the shirt until it fell apart and needed to be replaced. A careful pricking of some of the seams, a little tear on the hem, and the garment would die a messy death, opening the way for replacements.

If I wanted to set myself apart from the rest of the pre-corpses in my clan, I would need to dress the part. It would take a while for my requests for grey long sleeves with normal collars to be met, but I could afford to wait, for this.

. . .

November 24, 3 AK

It was a difficult problem, managing my time. I was sitting again beneath my favored tree, watching the leaves changing color from faded greens to dull browns and yellows, still clinging reluctantly to the lesser trees of the Uchiha compound against the backdrop of autumn blue sky dulled by intermittent wisps of off white cloud. I only had a moment to take a break between exercises and catch my breath, but even that time was invested in planning my next move.

What was more important? Should I run another lap of the training field? Some pushups maybe?

My gaze lingered for a moment at the fallen leaves swirling in the wind and my shoulders twinged sympathetically at the chill; perhaps I should practice more with my chakra today and allow my muscles to rest.

I had no time, no time for uncertainty or experimentation. I had to make do with off the cuff estimates and back-of-the-napkin calculations on how to invest the ever dwindling number of seconds I had at my disposal. I couldn't afford the time to find optimal strategies for improvement, and I couldn't afford not to be optimal.

I scratched nervously at the back of my hand hard enough to break the skin, tiny beads of bright carmine welling up from the excessive force. I licked up the seeping blood absently, taste of copper sitting in my mouth thick as syrup, sticking to my teeth and lingering on my breath, a tangible reminder of my own transient nature, no more real than the shadows cast by the early morning sun.

Run, punch, focus, fingers, speed, stamina, chakra, jutsu, again, again, again-

My mind floated away from my body as I rose and set to sprinting along the dusty track, course momentarily decided upon.

Every second was precious, every moment another step up the infinite ladder of power, the ladder I needed to climb as quickly as I could. I could not allow missteps; a single serious injury or dead end training routine could be the final nail in my coffin, the unrecoverable opportunity gone forever.

The same questions, over and over.

Should I be fast and light? Should I be slow and durable? Should I be clever and twisty?

What would Itachi think most useful? What would help me get stronger faster? What would convince the village I should be excluded from the purge?

I couldn't ask anyone for advice; I was rarely allowed to wander on my own outside the compound and the libraries were only open to Genin and above, and contained scarcely anything besides when paranoid ninja hoarded their knowledge for their students and family. None of the Uchiha would understand, for they would see the desire for power and try to shape me to be like them, a course which would merely seal my doom faster.

I would smile and nod along with the rest of the Uchiha children in the classes which taught us reading and writing and basic math, allowing the subtler lessons of Uchiha superiority to trickle away unheeded. There was no help to be had there.

The wind in the trees became the whisper of sand, running through the glass, each grain lost forever. A million chances, and I could only take a few.

I needed more.

. . .

March 28, 4 AK

"He's only six years old."

"Almost seven. He'll be seven by the beginning of the semester. Itachi joined the academy at six. He graduated in only a year and now he's on track to become a Chunin!"

"Itachi is a prodigy; Hiroki is quick but he isn't-"

"Bah! Hiroki is strong enough. You molly coddle him too much. At least he takes his training seriously!"

"Too seriously Genryusai. You aren't here; You don't see him coming home dripping blood after beating himself raw on the training posts 6 nights a week!"

"Do you think keeping him out of the academy will help? Do you think he'll stop beating himself bloody if we keep him out for longer? You can't stop him Yuki, he's going to be a ninja regardless of what you or I want."

I tapped a foot gently on the darkly varnished wooden floor and the conversation cut off. My father pulled the faintly glowing eggshell screen open and looked down at me with a stern and slightly disapproving gaze, tinged with a light dusting of paternal concern. I blinked up at him placidly for a second then ducked under the hanging sleeve of his midnight blue kimono and climbed into my mother's lap, head nestling in the folds of her pale lavender house robe.

"I want to enter the academy. I need to be stronger. To make you proud of me. To be an example to the village of the value of the Uchiha. I haven't even unlocked my Sharingan yet."

My voice quavered with emotion and my eyes focused on the stark white and red fan of the clan crest on the wall. My parents probably interpreted the tremble as shame, my mother hugging me closer in comfort, but it was only fear. I couldn't possibly stand against Itachi without awakened eyes, not if I trained a hundred years. Even then it was a longshot, at best.

My father spoke as if it was no great gap, but Itachi was a prodigy. I had watched him train more than once over the years and he was flawless. His form was perfect, his skill with our Bloodline was unparalleled, and his chakra reserves were already well developed for a child his age. I needed to press harder if I was to even stay in his shadow, and the academy would give me a chance to do so. More importantly, it would give me the opportunity to get a Jounin sensei, and the significant boost in strength that was synonymous with such an arrangement.

I would join the academy, and become strong.

Strength is Life. Weakness is Death.

. . .

A/N: italics may be lost in the transition. let me know if you spot any errors in the posts, dropped letters or words or whatever.