Rara Avis

What boots it? what the soldier's mail,

Unless he conquer and prevail?

What all the goods thy pride which lift,

If thou pine for another's gift?

Alas! that one is born in blight,

Victim of perpetual slight:

When thou lookest on his face,

Thy heart saith, "Brother, go thy ways!

None shall ask thee what thou doest,

Or care a rush for what thou knowest,

Or listen when thou repliest,

Or remember where thou liest,

Or how thy supper is sodden;"

And another is born

To make the sun forgotten.

Surely he carries a talisman

Under his tongue;

Broad are his shoulders, and strong;

And his eye is scornful,

Threatening, and young.

An excerpt from "Fate"

Ralph Waldo Emerson

One

The current pulls him under.

In his dreams, Neji Hyuga drowns, and when he wakes, he stays dead. His lungs are filled with water, salted and sharp. Each breath drawn in wheezes oxygen around the stiff fluid-stuffed membranes embezzled into his chest. So he keeps his shoulders back, posture rigid, and it helps ease that tension ever-so-slightly. He keeps his inhales shallow and smooth. Calm and collected.

He's the genius Hyuga, after all. A man like him can't be seen breathing every day like he's suffocating. But when the watchful eyes of his clansmen fade–when the moon creeps out to gloss its lips above the Hidden Leaf Village–Neji's fingers curl into tight fights, and he stops pretending he's fine. He's the best user of the gentle fist that anyone alive has seen and that doesn't matter in the slightest. He means nothing. The world cares nothing for a man like him.

A trophy, not a person. A weapon, not a human. A shinobi, technically–

But a slave, too.

The sting in his palms grounds him, sobers his mind. Crescent-shaped bites carve into his flesh and his arms shake with the force he packs behind each grinding nail. The headband on the floor peers back up at him silently, pale silver reflecting in the moonlight. He shouldn't do it. Fate doesn't get defied quite like he wants it to. His entire life has been nothing but an elaborate joke, a bitter punch straight to an unsuspecting gut. His chakra flares in agitation and he's quick to tamper it down. The Hyuga are a sensitive clan; no need to alarm the sentries by showing them a blue-coded beacon in the night. Not that they would watch too closely over the branch family quarters; no, the unbranded clansmen he was forced to bend at the knees were too reassured of their own security and safety. Generations of subservience, of destiny, of fate, had taught them the ones like him–the ones born just a second too late–that there was nothing to be done but live out their meager lives as sacrificial pawns, as dutiful slaves, to their owners in the head family.

Neji was a genius, though. The kind of name that gets etched into clan logs only once in a millenia.

And he would be damned if he rotted here for the rest of his days. The life that Hiashi Hyuga stole from Neji's father would be the last of his line the bastard would be able to take. From hereon, Neji would be Hyuga no more. He would serve Hinata, chronically disappointing heiress to the corrupt clan, not a moment longer.

Flashbacks from the Chunin exam's first round echoed in his mind. He'd had a chance to kill her and the girl still lived. He knew nothing would come of her demise: Hinata's younger sister, Hanabi, would take up the mantle instead. Their pale foreheads blinded him. His, which was perpetually hidden to hide the Caged Bird seal, would never even be considered to take up the position as head of the clan.

He was a wonderfully powerful slave–and nothing more.

It was his final match in the Chunin Exams that tipped him over. That loss to Naruto proved to him that fate could be broken; no ties were strong enough to bind him. Not anymore.

Slowly, a tide receding, his fists uncurled. All that pent up fury, broadened in its dispersal throughout his body, became a honed, lethal focus. Neji pulled a kunai out from his pouch and kneeled before his discarded headband. The proud symbol of Konohagakure peered up at him. Neji closed his eyes, and saw his father. He saw Hiashi's watery smile after his lost match. Held that flimsy paper in his hands, and pretended to accept that excuse for his father's demise. A death given freely, in service to the higher brother. The demise of the lesser, noble and unavoidable, whose fated truth was kept secret for nothing more than the simple fact that it could be. What better way to twist the loyalties of Hizashi's son, than to keep the truth from him and know that even if he hated the clan that killed his father–even if he cursed them nightly, and kept rage in his heart–he would not betray them.

Or so they thought.

The first scratch felt unearthly. Perspiration speckled against his brow, and his hands shook; one half-formed inhale was all it took to steel his resolve. The second gouged deeply into the forehead protector's metal. By the time he'd brought the blade back down for a third time it was done.

Neji's reflection flickered into existence as he picked the metal up once more. His face was fractured, split in half. The seal glared back at him for a second. Neji scowled, features twisting, and brought the band up to his brow. Whoever saw him next would know him not as the skilled branch member, nor as the guard to Lady Hinata, but as Neji Hyuga–

–rougenin of the Hidden Leaf.

A/N:

I LOVE NEJI I LOVE HIM SO MUCH

Quick housekeeping stuff:
- If this is your first time reading one of my works, welcome!
- I don't own Naruto (big surprise)
- I LOVE comments. Comments fuel my drive to write. So, please, let me know what you think!
- I've got a few fics ongoing right now, so updates will unfortunately be a smidge inconsistent. I will do my best to keep them substantial and semi-regular.
- Realistically, I envision this being a bit on the shorter side (think novella, probably) so this should be an easy read
- Enjoy!