5 - Plum Blossom 梅花茶
darkening into
the spools of moonlight; glinting
into threads of day
The sunlight peers in from the windows, glaring at her as spring slips by. Birds trill tunes on bushes blemished with mulberries, and there is a slight ache to the early morning, almost as if it's hiding something she doesn't know about.
Hisa's eyelids droop for a moment, her vision blurred as she snaps in and out of concentration. She's a little lightheaded from all the poison, but it does promise some benefits. Training is supposed to be helpful. In her book, though, training just means a lack of sleep. Tea helps her a little, a temporary mitigator between her sleep times, even if there's a limit to how much she can drink per day.
She must admit, she's actually progressing for the first time in...well, she doesn't know.
"How are you finding it?" Haru interrogates, rifling through some scrolls and neatly jotting down kanji. The ink blooms into black mourning flowers, little blots at the edges of the paper. He curses.
Hisa leans back and props up her arms. "I'm reacting to the poison's effects as normal, but I think it would be useful to decrease the dose. I need to go to the Konoha Pharmacy today and buy some antibiotics."
"Not that. The Academy." Ah. There it is. He's probably trying to keep a track on that as well, though she's trying to tell him as little as she can. One drop of information, unwillingly given from an ocean of secrets.
"It's fine. There really aren't many clan heirs as you said," Hisa looks lopsidedly at Haru. "Why?"
"It's better if you apply to skip a few years," Haru advises, "I'd rather you were in a class full of well-brought-up clan heirs rather than useless civilians. One look at your classmates and it's obvious you're going nowhere." It's a web of lies hidden beneath the false pretence comfort, Hisa thinks, especially as he just wants to strengthen their clan in Konoha.
The sunspots glow brightly, daylight slanting in through the gaps of the window panels. She scratches her pale pink nails on the edge of the plate, watching as the ceramic chips away after her relentless weathering. "So?" Hisa asks, grabbing a deep-fried gyōza stuffed with tender, buttery shrimp from the pot. She's trying to catch him out, trying to make him think twice. "What does that matter anyway? I thought that I was meant to be better than everyone else, didn't you say that?"
"I did," he admits, averting his eyes from her triumphant gaze, "But you also need strong comrades, perhaps those who can protect you - should you," he looks at her in the eye, "Should you ever falter in a mission."
"Like friends?" Hisa thinks of Ririka immediately, the Byakugan user's cold white eyes which see everything in their path. "Friends who can match up to you?"
"Not friends," he corrects, "There are times when you will grow too close and-" Suddenly, his face colours, prompting Hisa to change the subject.
"Mikoto-nee taught me a few recipes," she notifies him, bringing out the list of ingredients. "If it's not too much, I need to go and buy this, and this-"
"Is Shisui well?" Haru ignores, showing a little concern for his youngest child. "I hope he's eating well, boys always need to in their early years. It will stabilise their growth which will help them in later life as shinobi."
"I guess," Hisa pushes her plate away. Although it seems like she couldn't care less, a prick of uneasiness is starting to penetrate her heart. "Why do you always talk about Shisui?" She pauses, delivering her final drawl, "But no, I suppose he'll have to be a short one all his life. Eats nothing but cake, that one, probably going to get fat soon."
Perhaps there's a tinge of jealousy in there which she's afraid to admit. It's quite justified though - Haru talks more about the boy than he'd ever utter about Hisa.
"We have priorities," Haru frowns at her disrespectful words, deliberating after a few seconds. We meaning the Uchiha Clan.
Hisa doesn't know what to think at that. "I guess you do."
"Did you hear him?" Hisa giggles. "Ririka-san, p-please c-could you g-go out w-with me?"
"Kami, don't ever remind me of that," Ririka pushes her playfully, a little mortified as she remembers the embarrassing situation. "Everyone was watching. Everyone!"
It was only weeks ago, White Day, in a field of swaying trees and bright sunlight washing over when they were chased and ambushed by Ririka's 'suitors.' Even if Ririka is only six, she still has more than her fair share of admirers. Though at this age, Hisa doesn't know how fangirls and fanboys can exist.
"I'm sure it was only a few people," she consoles. "It didn't look like many to me."
Ririka glares at her. "You're forgetting I have, like, 360 degree vision or something? I can see, Hisa-chan, you can't play me for a fool!"
"I already am," she comments, "And it's more like 359. How are you supposed to know if you miss an angle?" At Ririka's glare, she bursts into laughter, a sound of liberation. "Now, I'm pretty sure there was a test on chakra theory, ne?"
Ririka's pale eyes widen. "Hey! Why didn't you tell me!? Otou-san will kill me if I fail." Both their clans are some of the largest in Konoha, and it is for that exact reason that they have high expectations placed on to them.
"Just kidding, I swear!" She dodges just in time for her friend's hand to punch through nothingness, a remnant of the rare violence which girls occasionally attempt. Although Hisa wouldn't exactly call her friend a daredevil, per se, she's mostly the personified version of trouble. She groans as she remembers the mischief the other girl gets up to when Daifoku-sensei isn't looking.
After walking down the footpath near the little bubbling brook, she listens to the water burbling past. Although the sun isn't shining, it's a clement day, the mild, balmy air breathing down her hair, black and white butterflies darting about near the river's surface.
"D-do you want to become a kunoichi?" Hisa asks, hesitating at the personal question. She wants to force herself to believe that what they'll be doing is actually ethical - enjoyable - innocence trapped between the erratic melodies which life and death play incessantly.
Ririka's white eyes study her expressionlessly, and with a sinking heart, she resigns herself once more to the lethargic feeling of relaxation and idleness. They lapse into a routine, and Hisa always wishes that these spring days of meadows, fields, and new longings will never end.
They arrive in the classroom unusually late, for a start, just in time to catch sensei's latest announcement.
"Class, we have a test today." This statement is met with protests and groans from every single student, though Daifoku-sensei still plasters an unyielding grin onto his face. "You will have a written exam, and you will also be tested on ninjutsu, taijutsu and genjutsu techniques."
"Kami," Hisa groans, everyone turning around to look at her. "With all the work otou-san's making me do, I haven't even looked over the notes once!"
But it seems like most of the class feels the same way. It's not as if they haven't prepared for anything, Hisa realises - most girls rigorously study to impress their crushes - only more like he hasn't taught them anything like that.
Someone voices her thoughts out loud. "We haven't done ninjutsu or genjutsu in class yet, sensei! How are we meant to do a test on those?"
He only vaguely answers the student's question. "Just try your best, these will determine your future year group from now on."
Ah. From what she can deduct, the war is starting soon. In every clan, there have been whispers of a war between the nations, and the Uchiha are no exception. The only surprising thing is how long it took for Konoha to make a move, since they're in dire need of shinobi if they ever want to ever take part in the oncoming battle.
It's obvious, really, the way the adults talk about it in hushed voices and serious tones. Hisa had once reckoned that every child knew about it, though she now sees their oblivious stares and knows that's not the case.
But still, isn't pushing children, innocent, kind children (well, some of them), a bit too brutal? Most of them would get shredded to bits, torn to pieces as soon as they stepped out into the night sky. Even if they have kekkei genkai, advanced jutsu, and other weapons in their arsenal, children, after all (including herself), are still children.
"Sensei," Ririka mutters, her voice low with deadly undertones, "Tell us the truth." This immediately brings up a string of hollers from the rest, who, although children, are still controlled by their instinct to rebel for once instead of staying silent.
He sighs and holds up his hands, surrendering to the class's incessant questioning. "Okay, okay, you don't have to do every section if can't. It's just to review your skills for now."
"Like hell we can!" Inoha Yamanaka whispers behind them, watching the civilians nervously stray to the side.
Unsurprisingly, most clan members do attempt the exam, even the Nara who looks half-asleep in his chair. Inoha pokes him awake, but he just grumbles and places his head back down on his desk.
The written exam is deliciously difficult, with mind-breaking questions that she's sure even Haru would struggle to solve. Some clan children start scribbling furiously around her, but only one or two civilians have actually put in the effort to answer. She sits there cluelessly, head on the desk for the remainder of the session. In the end, Hisa hands her sheet in, upturned and blank, not even a mark marring the white paper.
"I'm pretty sure I failed," Ririka grins darkly, "Oh well, I guess they can't put me ahead now. I didn't manage to answer a single question, you know - the scores are enough to drop me to the bottom of the class."
Hisa turns to face her, deadpan. "Not if I get there first. I couldn't even understand a single one!"
She's pretty sure she failed in taijutsu, since her weak punch seemed like a simple tap in contrary to Ririka's immense, chakra-filled blow. Using her sharingan, she can accurately predict moves in advance, though nothing else but dodge with average reflexes. Her target practice is not much better either, sixteen out of sixteen landing at least metres away from the post itself. She's lucky she was one of the last to be called, since her surname is at the end of the alphabet.
Ninjutsu is okay. Haru had coached her well, persistent on refining her chakra control as well as hand-seals. It doesn't seem like much, but she has a few extra jutsu in her toolkit, especially the water-style of which she's so proud of. Looking around, maybe that's not so extraordinary after all.
The only thing that she positively excels at in genjutsu, probably because of her sharingan. It's fun to let her imagination go wild, to master something she actively enjoys - an abstract reality of her creation which ripples this world out of existence.
"Mine was terrible," Ririka groans, flopping back into her chair. "They bloody tested us on everything, and that's even more than my clan ever taught me." She sighs, then her face perks up. "How was yours? Ahead as always, I see?"
"Your taijutsu was brilliant," Hisa reassures. "Whereas me, for example..." she trails off as she sees the majority of their class shake their heads with exhaustion. "Nevermind, let's not think about that now. I'm sure I did enough to stay in this class."
Yamanaka Inoha comes up to them, groaning at the bruise on her forehead. Hisa gives an apologetic look at the injury from the stray kunai she threw. "That instructor was barbaric," she sighs. "We've got the rest of the afternoon, you know. I just hate arithmetic. When are we ever going to need this nonsense in life?"
Their books are handed back in, marked by sharp green ticks and blaring red crosses, a comment scribbled slightly on the corner of her notebook. Sensei's mouth curls up in a warning smile which Hisa barely catches.
Stay back after class.
It takes all she can not to doze off as he lectures them on shinobi mathematical applications, some which seem too far too advanced for their class to understand. The civilian children are having a hard time, though it's not too difficult for the mostly-educated clan members to keep up with it.
Shuddering, Hisa still remembers when Haru drilled each theory into her while balancing a book on her head. Sure, it's a good way to balance etiquette and training at the same time, but isn't it a little too old-fashioned?
The bell rings, loud and clear over the giggles of the chattering children chasing each other at breaktime. Ririka gives only a questioning glance when Hisa tugs away from her to stay behind, and the classroom is soon empty with an air of hope and false promises.
"Hisa-san," Daifoku-sensei addresses her, an steely glint in his eye. "Come through here."
Dutifully, she follows him through the doorway into another classroom, probably abandoned by the students outside. There's two other unfamiliar teachers there, a curly-haired woman with thick lenses and a bearded, balding man who seems just like sensei himself.
"Why am I being called here?" She asks tersely. "I know I already failed, you don't have to tell me. I hope it's not to do with that, though I wouldn't like to be repeated the year.
Sensei shakes his head. "You did fail the written exam, and the taijutsu, but the circumstances are different this time."
"I'll be staying in my proper class," Hisa demands firmly.
"You won't," the other man says slowly. "It is a topic of debate. Your genjutsu was excellent, and your ninjutsu was above average too. We only teach E-ranked techniques in the last year of the academy, so it would be a waste that such an admirable talent slips out of our hands."
"Thanks," Hisa answers, "But it's okay. I refuse whatever you're trying to do."
Although her statement is sharp, clear and to the point, Daifoku-sensei can hardly believe his ears. "It's a unanimous agreement, provided you sit another exam to skip a few years ahead. The Uchiha clan have already agreed to this."
Maybe that's the turning point.
"The Uchiha Clan? What have they got to do with it?"
"We are under orders from the Hokage-"
"No. I don't want to." She cuts him off, walking to the door. The Uchiha Clan and the Hokage? Haru and Fugaku definitely decided this for her, and they didn't even dare to tell her! Of course, she'd have pitched a fit if she was told in advance, but that's not the point. Haru's been controlling her life since day one, and he can only give her a teaspoon of sugary-sweet so called 'protection,' ignoring her wishes for liberty. It's beginning to cloy inside her mouth, entrapping her in promises of the honey which she doesn't want.
"Your genjutsu is truly something that can be perfected, Hisa-san, if only you are willing. Few of us have ever shown progress in the illusionary arts, and I believe you can grow up to be a great shinobi, if you wish," It's the woman, this time, who speaks out from her threshold of shyness.
Hisa doesn't accept it, well not immediately. "That's not my goal in life. It takes too much effort, killing, and wastes everyone's time." She should know, shouldn't she? Her own sharingan was awakened just because her mother died. She gives a prolonged sigh, looking up at sensei's face.
"When's the exam?" If Haru hears that she failed this, who knows what he will do?"
"Now." She nods, giving a deep breath as she resigns herself to her fate. "Just the clone technique will do, and maybe another." He doesn't specify, she realises, but if he thinks that she's going to try some fancy jutsu or something, then he's quite wrong.
The one, barely flickering clone stands in front of her, her reflection, the essence of her resentment. Hisa can see their tick on the clipboard with her sharingan, and dispels her doppelgänger immediately.
The general fireball jutsu is also minimised as much as possible, though the teachers still place a protective barrier around her to ensure their safety. Hisa wonders what it would have been like if they hadn't. To her dismay, only a few files fly out of the cabinets, their contents drifting all over the floor. Though it is rather rewarding to see the them scrambling to clear it up, it's just student reports anyway.
They all give a nod in concordance. "You will report to Class 6-C next week," Daifoku-sensei concludes.
The brass copperplate of Class 1-D stares up at her, mocking her with its silence.
"Aneki!" Shisui calls, running into the room as she writes down her homework. The ink disappears into her notebook - she skims a hand over it to check if it is dry.
"I told you to knock!" Hisa grumbles irritably. Turning her hand over, there are a few blots on her palm, the black liquid trickling down her nails. Wiping them off with a towel, she huffs at the stains on her fingers.
"Please, you promised to play with me last time!" He whines, tugging on the frayed ends of her yukata.
"Stop disturbing me!" Hisa complains. "Otou-san gave me so much work on top of all the Academy exercises." She tries to prise his hands off her legs and ends up yanking him away from her clothes.
"For kami's sake, come on now!" She sighs, seeing as the toddler begins to sob. "I'll get in trouble if you cry any louder."
Not taking any notice to her words, Shisui whimpers a little more, and she suddenly finds herself tempted to slap him at his ceaseless bawling. It's a pity she can't. Haru would murder her in cold blood, broad daylight.
"Please," Hisa pleads. "I'll just write some lines - that'll take some time - and then I'll come play with you."
"Promise?" Shisui asks, his adorably childlike eyes rounder each second. She's not falling for that though.
Beckoning him over to her side, she pokes him forcefully on the forehead and returns to scribbling on her worksheet. He's too young to realise the meaning behind it, to understand the whispers of the broken promises she makes, the grief which follows her and will continue to haunt her for the rest of her (probably) short life.
She doesn't come out.
The next day, Hisa realises her mistake - why exactly Shisui is avoiding her. She tries to make his favourite meal - tamagoyaki - eggs rolled up with a thin layer of seasoning sprinkled neatly on top. For some reason, he doesn't come to breakfast, so she's left alone with Haru as they both quietly chew on their food.
"Is he avoiding you?" Haru asks amusedly. "I thought he'd hang on to your every word." It's the last thing you'd ever expect to happen - Haru trying to get Hisa to open up her feelings.
"Evidently." Hisa snarks, annoyed. Haru's mood really does change quite quickly - so fast that even he can't see it. "I told you already - I don't know why. He hasn't been talking to me for ages."
"Since when?" Haru came back from a week-long mission yesterday evening, so it's perfectly normal that he didn't notice.
"Two weeks ago." Hisa folds her arms. "I've had no-one to talk to at all now!"
Although she's loathe to admit it, the days are becoming repetitive and tedious, like there's almost something missing in her life. He doesn't even want to be in the same room as her, she thinks sulkily.
It's embarrassing to think that she must resort to camouflage to be able to even stay in the same room as her brother. Shisui does polish off the tamagoyaki, because she's relieved to see that the bowl is empty by the time she's home, even if she does have to wash up after him.
These monotonous days don't mean that she has nothing to do, though. Haru crams the work on to her, information perhaps years aead and beyond of what they're doing in her class. Usually she struggles her way through comprehension, though her memorisation is accurate with the sharingan.
"At any rate, he's depressed," Hisa mutters bluntly, looking at Haru to see if he'll accept the explanation.
"Ah." Haru says, shaking his head with a sigh. "That might have been something to do with me."
"Ne?"
"He - he was asking too much about Mariko," Haru says, so quickly she almost cannot comprehend. He hides a choked sob, but the misery still hangs between them in the air.
"And?"
"I may have berated him a little too harshly." This is a rare admittance which Hisa had never thought she'd see.
"Oh," she says, swallowing her guilt. "Well, in that case, you can go and apologise."
"What should I do?"
"Huh? Me?"
"You're the only one here," he remarks drily. "Anyway, I'm not as good as you at...emotions." That might be partially true, Hisa thinks. Whenever Mariko was angry with Haru, it was always up to her to mend the rift between them.
"Oh, just get out there," Hisa shoves him into Shisui's room, half-amused at how he flails and stutters. She makes sure to listen in at the closed door, suddenly feeling an urge to laugh.
He returns five minutes later, rubbing his neck rather sheepishly. "Ne? How was it?"
"Permanently scarring. I had no idea that...he would cry so much. Are toddlers meant to cry so much?"
"..." A quiet smile drifts across her face, but it is as fleeting as her inherent happiness.
The next day, after he's gone, she's stands on a little stool in the kitchen, frying the tempura shrimp as the golden oil spits out at her threateningly. They're not turning out well. Some are fine, crispy and glistening; others are flaky, crumbly, battered - a deep-fried mess.
If Haru was here, she'd have made life hell for him. There are no words to describe how tumultuous she's feeling at having her life controlled for her yet again. It's not as if she could even argue against it, though, and it's not like Haru's here either.
She's forced to abandon all her friends from her previous class, all for the sake of this so-called future. A future which will never exist when the war begins. Viciously, Hisa opens the cabinet with a bang. She imagines Mariko's old kitchen knife, the sharp ends sparkling as light floods in though the slats.
It's not there. That's strange - it always is. No-one except her touches it, although she sometimes hopes that Shisui or Haru would cook for a change.
Plum blossoms sway in the breeze, so horrifically pink against the dull grey of life. Hisa slowly treads through the kitchen, arms loosely swinging by her sides as she paces.
There's crying. A howl of wind ricochets through the room, hate whistling ominously as the high notes screech into place. She's transported back to that fateful day, the eve of pitch black and dark and death. A caliginous sky showered by overcast clouds, a distant tune of sweet sorrow and longing.
It's not Mariko, she thinks. It's not happening all over again.
Then why does it feel like it?
Shisui screams. Hisa runs.
The bathroom door is ajar, the shrieks louder and louder in her ears. He's there, the blade in his hand, jagged slashes on one wrist. The knife rises again, tracing a shaky path on the other palm.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Hisa lunges.
Blood splatters over the cherry-red floor.
Edit - 17/06/23: I have removed definitions on all chapters, however, foreign words are still italicised.
lovehearts,
m.b.