Yoshiro observed his class as they formed a circle around the sparring ring, outlined by a stripe of white paint. He directed them to sit, and once they had quieted, he spoke.
"You have been assigned a number based on the alphabetical order of the class roster," he announced. "I have twenty-six slips of paper with your numbers, and I will draw two names at random. These two people will fight, and afterwards, we will critique them. For the first four months of each semester, we will guide these critiques, but after that, myself, Otani-sensei Sawamura-sensei will only speak up after all of you. For every comment we make, you will all lose a point out of your grade for the day. Though your fight, and not necessarily the outcome, will most majorly dictate said grade."
He and his two assistants would be positioned in a triangle around the ring, behind the students, for that very reason.
Scanning the room, Yoshiro could see the nerves plainly visible on most of the childrens' faces. "I had you sit in a ring so you can see from all perspectives. Some of you will catch mistakes that aren't visible to others. So make sure you pay attention, because others may not be able to pick up your slack."
"Additionally, I will be refereeing your matches," he continued, when he was certain he had made his point. "And I will impose a couple of restrictions. A ring-out constitutes a loss. No ninjutsu or weapons of any kind are allowed in this ring. And when I say the match is over, it is over. Misconduct in this setting will be met with severe consequences. Are we clear?"
"Hai, sensei!" Came the chorus, and he nodded.
"Good. Now, first will be," he picked two slips of paper out of the pile, "number fifteen and number four. That would be…Konjiki Katsuo and Chinen Satoshi. Take your places."
The slips of paper were blank, of course. What? He was a ninja—of course nothing would be left to chance. Each matchup had a purpose with varying degrees of importance. This one just so happened to be vital.
"Yes!" The Konjiki boy cheered. "I'm first!"
The civilian boy was a lot less eager—he could barely make it to the ring he was shaking so hard. This seemed to disappoint Katsuo.
"Sensei, could I switch?" He asked. "I want a fun one."
"I'll preempt any such questions in the future," Yoshiro drawled. "Once I call your names, there will be no swaps. You will fight your assigned opponent. If you are injured, sick, or have some valid reason not to fight, you will make me aware at the start of this period, or you will be granted no allowances."
Katsuo gave a displeased sigh. "Fine…I mean, yes, sensei." He faced the trembling Chinen, sinking into a ready stance that the terrified boy poorly tried to emulate. "Try to make this fun for me, okay?"
They seemed to wait for some cue to begin, but Yoshiro said nothing until it was clear they didn't know they could start.
"There are no countdowns in battle," Yoshiro proclaimed. "The second you enter the ring, you yourselves are declaring the start of the match."
"Oh, great!" Konjiki said, and then he immediately blitzed towards Chinen, who immediately covered his face with his arms.
Terrible. Most guards blocked a person's line of sight in some way, so it was important to make sure visibility was compromised as little as possible, and to compensate with body orientation, situational awareness and sometimes other senses. Covering your eyes completely was the last thing you should do.
And for such a shoddy block as well. Konjiki could have cleaved through it with ease, but he stamped his foot and circled into a hook kick instead.
His heel easily swept aside the feeble guard, knocking off the kid's glasses in the process. Yoshiro was pretty sure that wasn't even on purpose. Taken completely by surprise, Chinen only avoided the following punch by falling on his ass.
Desperately, he searched for his spectacles, and Konjiki almost hesitated in his assault. But only for a moment. Just as he was about to boot the kid in the side, Yoshiro called the match.
"Take your seats," he instructed, and they did as directed. Chinen's head hung low, and clutched his glasses tightly in his hand, heedless of how they may smudge.
"Clearly, Konjiki-san was the victor," he stated, earning some snickers. "Can anyone tell me why?"
"Because he's not a wimp?" Ban Rio called, to some more laughs. Chinen's head sank even lower, and Yoshiro' eyes narrowed.
"First of all, raise your hand when you have an answer," he said. "Second, rudeness towards your fellow students will not be tolerated. By the end of the academy, the deficiencies you notice now will be cut out, and you will all be true, Iwa shinobi. If you cannot respect what your classmates are now, respect what they will be in the future. Am I understood?"
"Hai, sensei!"
Teaching was only half of Yoshiro's job. The other was to form camaraderie between the members of his class. He found it easiest to accomplish this objective by positioning himself as the villain that his class would have to work together to overcome. He was successful with his first batch, along with the most recently graduated batch he had stepped forward to instruct after the untimely death of their last sensei two years ago, and was praised for his effectiveness. This one would be no different.
"Good," he said. "Now, does anyone have a real answer?"
"Konjiki-san was faster, stronger, and trained better?" Osaki Ken guessed.
"A more appropriate answer, but not as detailed as I expect it to be," Yoshiro said. "During these reviews, do not bother discussing your classmates' conditioning or note any obvious physical advantages unless your analysis builds off such an observation. These spars test battle awareness, so that is what we will focus on. Anyone else?"
Then, their smallest student raised her hand, and he called on her.
"Chinen-san cut off his line of sight," she said. "Even if he had the conditioning necessary to retaliate, this would have prevented him from reacting to Konjiki-san's follow up. Additionally, he was blinded further by the loss of his glasses. If he wore something more appropriate for our level of physical activity, that would not have happened. That is, specifically, where he went wrong in this fight."
"A good analysis," he allowed. There were eleven other errors he had seen, but they were superfluous compared to the larger issues. Pointing them out would only serve to distract the boy. "Normally, I would now ask what Chinen-san did right. However, there is nothing to speak of on that subject."
He didn't say the words maliciously, but with professional detachment. Yoshiro wouldn't stand for bullying, but he wouldn't sugarcoat or coddle his students either. There were no participation awards in Iwa, and there wasn't a single thing Chinen did correctly during his match.
"Let's move on," he said, cutting off the class' reactions. He made note of each jeering face, and mentally adjusted coming matchups accordingly. It seemed that there would be a lot of reality checks this session.
"Can someone tell me what Konjiki-san did well?"
Several people raised their hands. It wasn't a particularly difficult question.
"He took advantage of Chinen-san's block and changed his angle of attack."
"He did display a degree of quick thinking," Yoshiro allowed as the boy preened. "Now, what mistakes did he make?"
He could tell that the kids weren't expecting that question. Yamada Eiji raised his hand.
"Is…is that a trick question, sir?"
"No," Yoshiro lectured. "He might have won, but there is no such thing as a perfect victory. There is always room for improvement. Did no one notice anything Konjiki-san could have done differently?"
Finally, a hand raised.
"Yes, Imai-san?" He asked, impassively.
"He stomped his foot in his haste to switch attacks," she said. "That might have allowed a more experienced fighter—if they for some reason allowed themselves to be put in Chinen-san's position—time to dodge or counter in some way."
"I'd like to see you try to change directions without making some noise," Katsuro muttered, ears red from the simple critique. But Yoshiro heard him.
"Konjiki-san, Imai-san is doing you a great service by pointing out your mistakes," he said. "Always remember, you learn more from failure than your victories. Besides, remember that, if she were to not speak up, you would be losing points out of your grade." His eyes slid to the little girl. "Though he does raise an interesting point. What would you have done in Konjiki-san's place?"
"What would I have done in his place? Or, what would I have done if I was in Konjiki-san's body in that moment?" She clarified.
Interesting. "If you were in his body."
"I would have simply followed through with the initial punch," she said without hesitation. "Chinen-san's guard was weak, and his arms were not braced in any way. They would have provided almost no obstacle. Additionally, he was the perfect distance to punch, but the leg is longer than the arm. He was too close for a properly executed kick; the only reason his foot connected instead of his calf was that Chinen-san fell backward in shock. An experienced fighter would not have done that; they might have even ducked into the strike to rob it of even more power and place themselves in a better position to counter."
"So you think Konjiki-san merely performed that manuver as a means to show off," Yoshiro surmised.
Kasaiki's eyes sharpened. "Please don't put words in my mouth, sensei. I said nothing of the sort."
Yoshiro hummed. "You're right, I apologize. That was my own conjecture."
He turned to Konjiki, who looked about as red as the lava he'd one day spit.
"This ring is not for messing around," he warned. "Here, you will hone the techniques that might one day save your life, or allow another to end it. Treat this with the seriousness it deserves. Fear not; your classmates will learn your full potential sooner or later."
He turned back to his pile of empty paper. "Next is Ashikaga Takeo and Nagao Takeshi."
Yoshiro knew Nagao senior. He was well known as something of a misogynist, and such views were frequently passed from father to son. However, Yoshiro was in the position to nip that in the bud, so he would.
Through the roster he worked, until he decided it was time for the pairing he was most curious about.
"Imai Kasaiki and Ban Rio," Yoshiro announced, eliciting an uproar of whispers.
Yes, he arranged a fight between the biggest kid in his class and the smallest. Frankly, he had no idea who would win.
Imai didn't seem to have much of a reaction to the announcement. She simply inclined her head and rose, stepping forward only to stop just outside of the ring. Unlike anyone else before her, she did some stretches before taking the final step.
"Come on, quit stalling!" Ban said. She ignored his jeers, and finished at her own pace, which Yoshiro allowed, since they were way ahead of schedule. It would be months before he would see fights of any significant length.
Predictably, the moment Imai set a single toe inside of the ring, Ban charged, surging forward for an easy ring out. That was the issue with allowing an opponent to settle into a more advantageous position first, especially in this setting.
Dodging wasn't an option; his arm span was much too wide for Imai to slip around. Yoshiro was sure they would be treated to an instant ring out, and he already had a speech about overthinking, overestimating and situational awareness at the tip of his tongue.
But then, Imai sunk into a low stance, and readied herself into a strong cross block. It was almost laughable—that was, until Ban struck out with a right cross that should have taken her off her feet.
And she held, not giving even a millimeter of ground. The only indications she was struggling at all were the sway of her upper body and the wince of pain that was quickly erased.
No one was more shocked than Ban.
"What the fuck?" He cursed, and if this wasn't a ninja academy, Yoshiro might have told him to watch his language. But it would have been hypocritical to tell a future shinobi killer not to swear, so he held his tongue.
Ban struck out with his other hand, and Imai readjusted the elbow of her blocking hand to meet it. Though the angle of contact should have made Ban's fist slide off, it stuck fast.
"What the hell?" he yelped. "Let go of me!"
As he yanked with all his might, Imai released the chakra in her left foot, letting the large boy tug her forward a step. Caught off balance, but with both arms still stuck, Ban stumbled back, and in an instant, Imai released the chakra on her left forearm and right elbow as well. Her arm snaked around his own floundering right, tugging it—and him by extension—forward. Simultaneously, she launched her already positioned elbow straight into Ban's gut with all the strength her shoulder and back muscles could offer.
Ban was sent reeling to the ground as Imai released him with her chakra. As he wheezed for breath, Imai crouched and placed a knife-hand at his neck to symbolize a kunai.
"Winner, Imai-san," Yoshiro intoned, and she skipped backwards to gain some distance from her discombobulated opponent in case he tried anything.
"She cheated, sensei," Ban spluttered as the class' shocked whispers echoed around them. He furiously wiped tears from his eyes, though Yoshiro wasn't sure if they were from embarrassment or the force of Imai's strike. "She did something with my arms!"
"Imai-san did not break any of my restrictions," Yoshiro said impassively. "So she did not cheat."
He might have banned ninjutsu, but he conspicuously didn't ban chakra altogether. Something Imai had obviously picked up on. From the previous day, he knew she had the ability to use chakra sticking, but to use it so effectively to defeat a much larger opponent? At her age? That was beyond impressive.
"The first person to break Imai-san's hold during a fight will earn a reward," he announced, and the girl in question shot him a look of shock and betrayal. "Of course, if you make a failed attempt, and that attempt leads to your defeat, it will still count against your grade."
"Now," he said. "Let's continue to the evaluation. Why did Ban-san lose?"
Few people understood what Imai did at all, and so, for them, answering that question was impossible. But after a moment, Hirose Daigo spoke up.
"He tried to overpower Imai-san with force. He didn't have intel on her abilities, and he underestimated her based on her appearance. He overcommitted to a single rush, and had no way to disengage once it failed. Additionally, he panicked, and assumed Imai-san wouldn't or couldn't let him go. Or perhaps he thought he could overpower her by pulling away. But the moment he shifted his weight, Imai-san capitalized, releasing him and allowing gravity and his own pulling force to unbalance him."
"An apt analysis," Yoshiro praised. "Next, can anyone tell me what Ban-san did right?"
It took even longer for someone to answer, but eventually it was Imai that spoke up.
"He took advantage of the time it took for me to stretch," she noted. "By rushing me before I could settle into a more advantageous position, he had very little distance to push me. In the future, I will make sure to stretch before I am called."
That was all he had, as he didn't yet have the inclination to delve deeper into micro-movements. Such analysis would come much later in their education.
"I suppose that leads into my next question," he said. "About what mistakes Imai-san made. Did anyone notice anything else?"
No one did. He hadn't either, for this level of analysis.
"Good. We will move on to the next pairing then. Hatanaka Sho and Ishimoto Eiji."
As the next fighters took their place, Yoshiro noticed Imai sidling up towards him.
"Can I help you, Imai-san?" he asked.
"I apologize, sensei. But would it be possible for me to go to the hospital? I believe my ulna is cracked."
Yoshiro sighed. "Yes, you may. Do not dawdle."
She thanked him and scampered off as Hatanaka and Ishimoto began their match. He would have to make her fight last every day from here on out; he was certain this would be a frequent occurrence.
A block was used to weather the force of a hit, while deflecting some of the concussive energy away from the body. But since Imai used chakra to keep the strikes from deflecting, she absorbed every bit of that energy. And currently, her bones weren't strong enough to bear it.
He could forbid the technique, but it would be counterproductive. His students were here to learn how to fight for their lives, and such minor injuries could be mended in moments with Iryo Ninjutsu. If she did anything that would lead to a more permanent injury down the line, he would put a stop to it then.
She would probably be late to Calisthenics a lot, but he wasn't worried about that either. Yoshiro could tell from a single look that she didn't need any guidance in that department anyway.
- - - { ワナビー } - - -
Every few days, after Akane-obasan went to bed, I would bust out the fuinjutsu scrolls and attempt to teach myself the art. Every time, I would give up after around thirty minutes of research.
Fuinjutsu was hard. It was hard, and stupid, and it didn't make sense at all. Or at least, the material I had to learn from was too convoluted for me to understand. It was like trying to read a physics textbook with a second grader's understanding of the subject; the few words present may as well have been written in Tagalog.
A sealing matrix—the cool squiggly shape that formed the seal itself—was made out of kanji, but not normal kanji. Barely legible, heavily stylized kanji that looked different in every seal diagram I could find. Seriously, I've found the kanji for fire, one of the few I could consistently pick out regardless of font, written twelve different ways.
I had vowed I would not try and actually make a seal, as they supposedly had the unfortunate tendency to explode if done incorrectly (if it didn't kill me, I would at least have to explain what I was up to). That vow lasted approximately two weeks before my frustration won out. I wasn't getting anywhere by staring at texts of gibberish, so I tried to copy down the simplest matrix I could find—that I could tell was complete, in any case, since most of the examples in these scrolls were partials.
Not one of my smartest moves, but it didn't matter. The stupid thing didn't work anyway. It was supposed to, when activated by chakra, crawl up the page before settling down a couple inches above its original resting place.
The damn thing didn't even budge.
"What the fuck is with you?" I whispered/shouted. If it wasn't night time, and if Akane-obasan wasn't fast asleep upstairs, I might have thrown something. In a fit of rage, I crumpled up the paper I had painstakingly copied the matrix on.
Was it incomplete after all? Maybe all the seals here were edited in some way for security. I had considered the possibility before, and now I almost hoped that was the case. Because the alternative was that there was some additional, unknown factor that I was missing, and that would fucking suck. If that was the case, I would simply have no way of pursuing the art without asking someone for help.
There were still some scrolls I hadn't searched through, though that number was dwindling. I tore through the last few, saved for the end simply because they were in the top corner, and, as such, were the most difficult to reach.
Among them, I found…something. Honestly, I really didn't know what. There was a diagram of a seal matrix—I had know idea what it did, as it lacked any explanation as to its purpose. I'm pretty sure there's an appendix somewhere (Atsuchi probably keeps it under lock and key) with explanations, so everything but the most basic diagrams are a complete mystery to me.
I didn't know what this matrix did, and all I could tell was that it was much more complex than the crawling thing. What caught my eye was just a tiny segment of it near the top middle. I was able to identify some of the distorted Kanji, but that wasn't what drew my attention. It was the…shape, I guess, of the lines the kanji formed. I recognized it from somewhere, but for the life of me, I couldn't remember where.
I uncrumpled the paper, tearing off a strip of non-incriminating white space. The rest I would soak and pulp just to be safe, but on this piece I drew the symbol. None of the kanji, just the shape.
Then, I went to bed.
- - - { ワナビー } - - -
With little fanfare, my first week of the academy ended. I was a little surprised to find I would have weekends off; they were so serious here, I thought ninja training would be a twenty-four/seven thing. I was glad to be wrong. I mean, I would still be training, but the kiddos deserved a couple days off at least.
Most of them. There was one that I thought needed a wake up call, and, luckily/unluckily for her, I was too nice to watch and wait as she learned the hard way.
I found the address I had copied down in the merchants district, specifically in a tea store. As this was supposed to be someone's home, I assumed they lived in the second story.
"Ohayo, Ojou-chan!" A balding man greeted, and I resisted the urge to grimace. "Is there anything I can help you with today?"
"Yes. Is Machi Aimi in?" I asked.
The man blinked at her. "My daughter? Yes, she's organizing the back room. "Are you…a friend of hers?"
"A classmate," I said brusquely. "I was sent by the academy to ensure she has the proper supplies for school."
"You're one of her classmates?" The older Machi asked, and I groaned internally.
"I showed promise, so I was allowed to enroll early," I explained for the millionth time. "It was also the reason I was chosen to accompany Aimi-san on this excursion."
If you didn't catch on to this, I was lying. I was acting on my own initiative, because Satoshi, Yosuke and the other civilian-born had gotten their acts and wardrobes together by the third day of class. While little Aimi was still wearing a skirt to sparring.
"Is there something a matter with her school supplies?" He asked. "She has some notebooks and pencils."
"That might be all that is important in a civilian school, but not the ninja academy," I said with forced patience. "First, her wardrobe is not suitable for our classes, especially the more active ones. Which is why I am here to accompany her to get a new one."
"That will not be necessary, Ojou-chan. I believe Aimi-chan will be just fine with what she's wearing."
…excuse me?
"And what has prompted you to reach that conclusion?" I asked, feeling my blood pressure rise.
"Well, we just got her those outfits," he said sunnily. "They look just fine. And we can't afford to buy her a whole separate set. Aimi-chan will just have to make due."
I found it very difficult to reign in my fury, and not just from the patronizing tone.
"That's funny," I said. "I understand you've been given certain tax and utility cuts for enrolling Aimi-san in the academy. Are you telling me you've already squandered all the money you earned from selling your daughter?"
That was why I had zero respect for the parents of any of the civilian-born kids in my class. They literally pimped out their kids to the government. I don't know about the others, but I was certain from this short interaction alone that Aimi's parents hadn't so much as lightly researched the fate they were assigning their daughter.
"Selling?" The man spluttered. "You listen here, young lady, you have no right to speak to me like this! Where are your parents?"
"My parents were shinobi who were killed in the last war," I said coldly. "That is what it means to be a shinobi. To fight and bleed for your village. This is the fate you sold your daughter into."
"That was war!" He protested. "People die in war, but the war's over! Aimi won't have to—"
"Are you truly that naive?" I exclaimed. "The war is over? Who told you that? What treaties were signed? What declarations were made? I'll tell you; the Tsuchikage signed a temporary armistice. There was no loss or victory between the elemental nations—we just decided to stop actively fighting until we all have enough manpower, weapons and money to start it up again! And Konoha's chomping at the bit to get revenge for Uzu! I give it a decade before the war is back on, and wouldn't you know it? That's just in time for your daughter to graduate from the academy!"
I hopped onto the front desk and got right in the slimy man's face.
"Know this," I growled. "The little girl you called your daughter, the one you claim to love, is gone now. Her death was arranged the moment you enrolled her in the academy. Either she will remain how she is right now and die a literal death after a few missions, or she'll kill the soft, weak merchant's daughter she was born to be and survive as a shinobi killer. You no longer have a choice in the matter. Me coming here? That was a courtesy. If I go back to Yoshiro-sensei and tell him you refused to do what you're told, they'll take it to mean you are choosing to sabotage a future Iwagakure asset. And Iwa will not take kindly to that."
Worst part is, my words are true. If Aimi returns from the weekend in a skirt, I bet my left hand that Yoshiro-sensei would begin to ask questions. Aimi would be getting all the resources she needed, and I highly doubted that the expenses would be coming out of Iwa's treasury.
"Eight thousand ryo should cover the cost of several outfits with change left over," I said coldly, as the man trembled before me. I felt a bit drained, for some reason. "You'll probably have to do laundry frequently."
Aimi's father half-turned before freezing as he saw the back room was open.
"Hello, Aimi-san," I said coolly. "Are you ready to go shopping?"
"Y…yes, Imai-san," she stuttered as her father ducked around her, not meeting either of their eyes.
"Good. We'll make this quick."
- - - { ワナビー } - - -
The following hour was awkward and spent almost entirely in silence. I showed Aimi to a shinobi outfitters, and though I tried to prod her, and encourage her to get something she liked (as long as it was appropriate), she was incredibly, and understandably, cagey.
Eventually, we (I) settled on a pair of gray shorts and a pastel red kinda-blouse. Despite all of its features (metal weave for durability and protection, and a lot of hidden pockets which I thought were pretty nifty), it still gave elementary schoolgirl. Stylish and useful. She could afford two of the outfits with what her father had forked over.
"Do you think you'll need bandages, Aimi-san?" I asked, holding up a roll. "Like what I use?"
"I…I don't know," she whispered, not meeting my eyes. "I'm not hurt. W…will I be soon?"
Holy Moses.
"I don't wear bandages because I'm injured," I explained to her, holding up the roll for her to see. "These ones and the ones I use have metal wire woven into them. It provides some protection against blades. But that's not something you have to really worry about yet. I was just…asking," I finished lamely.
"No thank you, then, Imai-san."
I sighed. "I can all but hear you thinking. It won't do you any good to hold it in. I'll listen, if you want."
The hangers in her hands began to shake.
"Is…is it true?" She whispered. "What you said to Tou-san?"
I almost asked for clarification about what she specifically wondered about, but I suppose it didn't matter. I was gifted and burdened with knowledge of the future, so I know that this so-called peace wouldn't last for much longer than a decade.
"Yeah," I said. "All of it is true. I'm sorry, Aimi-san. One day soon, the war will resume, and we'll be fighting on the front lines."
She hunched up against the wall as fat tears began to fall in her new clothes.
"Imai-san, I'm scared," she said, her lips trembling. God fucking damnit, I was not equipped for this.
"I never wanted to be a kunoichi!" She blubbered. "My parents said…my parents said I'd just have to be one for seventeen years, and then I could retire to marry someone who could take over the tea shop!"
I could punch a wall, but I took a deep breath instead.
"The seventeen years thing…that's technically true," I allowed. "For now. But that number can change at the Tsuchikage's discretion. Last war, he upped it to twenty-six, and it stands to reason he'd do the same again if he needs to. And in practice…I don't get the sense that people who are seeking to retire after the minimum amount of time really…make it that long."
There was a reason the Tsuchikage had felt secure in decreasing it at the war's end, despite his shinobi forces being at an all-time low. He didn't have many ninja left that would take him up on the offer of retiring early. The policy change was purely for show, to attract people like Aimi.
The sobbing only intensified.
"I'm sorry," I pushed on, because she needed to know this now. This wasn't Konoha; we didn't hide the realities of our profession for later, when they were already in too deep to back out. Not that Iwa gave you the option. "But it's out of my control, your control, your parent's control and even Yoshiro-sensei's control," I told her bluntly, and she began to cry harder. "You've been dealt a shitty hand. All you can do is try your best to make the most of it. All the scary things I said earlier…they're true. But there are good things about being a shinobi too. And maybe, if you find the right specialty, you can get out of fighting on the front line. You just have to prove yourself."
As I said the words, the seed of a plan began to form in my mind. A plan that would be beneficial to both Aimi and myself.
"Do…do you want to sit with me at lunch on Monday?" She hiccupped, and my heart twisted.
"Associating yourself with me will only make your life harder, Aimi-san," I said uncomfortably. "Trust me. But I'll support you from afar, okay?"
It was the best I could offer. My life was destined for chaos, and the last thing Aimi needed was to be dragged into it.
- - - { ワナビー } - - -
AN: Hello, y'all. Boy, I am exhausted. This chapter could probably benefit from me sleeping and coming back to it in the morning, but I have a strict writing schedule, so I don't have time for that. I hope it's still adequate, and that you enjoy it all the same.
I've surpassed 150 favorites, and am just brushing 200 followers! I'm quite surprised and satisfied with that, considering I only published it two and a half months ago. Thank you all so much!
Speaking of engagement, there's something I unfortunately feel the need to address in case any of you saw and were as distressed about it as I was. A couple days ago, I was looking at my reviews, and I was shocked to see that someone left a comment advertising the sale of something illegal and disgusting, which I think even mentioning might get me flagged for violating community guidelines.
Why they did that at all, much less what possessed them to do it in a comment on a random fucking fanfiction, I cannot fathom. Since the review was left by a guest, I could not report it, so all I could do through the site was to simply delete it. However, before I did that, I screenshotted the comment and emailed it to fanfiction support, urging them to pass it on to whoever the relevant authorities are. They left a username on some database I don't recognize to send money to in exchange for…that. So, maybe someone might be able to track down this guy and imprison him, or preferably beat the shit out of this guy until he is a bloody smear on the ground. I don't think the FBI or whatever would do that, but here's hoping.
I thought at first that it was surely just a troll—I mean, why the fuck advertise in a goddamn fanfiction comment?—but the comment was way too fucking specific. And if it was a troll…what the fuck is wrong with you? That wasn't funny. At all.
Anyway, for those of you who saw it, I'm sorry someone used my fic to expose you to that. I'm pretty fucking mad about it myself. That shit is fucking vile, and anyone who abuses a child like that (in any way really but this hits different) deserves Chinese water torture.
What a world we live in. Anyway, have a great week.