"Stand up."
Hinata heaved, her muscles aching. She pushed more chakra into her fists, mercilessly hitting and destroying the wooden dummy in front of her.
"Stand up."
She kept going at it even when the dummy was nothing but splinters, embedding into her skin and causing her to bleed.
"Stand up."
Once the dummy was absolutely destroyed, she moved to the next one, her hands making quick work of it. She didn't hold back, pushing with all her power and concentrating in the right sequence, aiming not only for strength but speed. That was what she lacked the most. Speed. Speed to dodge her father's attacks. Speed to land a blow. Speed to actually cause significant damage when her hands did connect with her target, before it moved away and hit her back, twice as strong and thrice as fast.
"Stand up."
Of course, she lacked a lot more than just speed. She lacked strength. She lacked the determination. She lacked the ability. She lacked the endurance. She would tire easily and her movements would become sluggish, only causing her to get hit more until she could no longer move. She would be scared of that, knowing she was not capable enough, and thus from the beginning she would be on the defensive, fearing the pain only to gain more of it in the end. On the few times she got lucky and managed to hit her father, he would shrug it off as if it was nothing. She would train and train under her father, and still, she could not overcome these weaknesses.
"Stand up."
Until, a few weeks ago, it finally happened.
Hinata was sprawled on the floor of the dojo, her hands trying to push herself up to no avail. There was a bruise marring her face on her left cheek, and her training kimono was dirtied and torn in some parts, likely hiding many more of those same bruises.
Her father looked down upon her, his arms folded. He waited for another minute but when his daughter failed to get the strength in her arms to stand up, he unfolded his arms and shook his head.
"You disappoint me, Hinata."
The words halted the young girl in her umpteenth attempt. She slowly looked up, her neck and eyes hurting from the strain of lifting them enough to see the man in front of her. He was immutable, his face as hard as a rock. Hinata quickly looked down again and, to her embarrassment, failed once more in standing up.
Her father gave a sigh.
"Your ability has not risen up with your growth. It is the same as when Hanabi was born. Your attacks lack strength and your speed is not enough to compensate for it. Your determination is poor as well. In other words, you are incompetent. I will not train you anymore today, but I hope that, the next time, you will reflect and correct all the points I have talked about now. Though honestly" this time his voice lowered, and the coldness was palpable there, "I doubt anything will change, as it's not the first time I've pointed this out to you."
And with those final words he left, leaving Hinata once again alone and cold.
She huffed, the new dummy destroyed, and walked over to the next one. It had been a month since that confrontation and, since then, her father had not called on her again. She knew he was busy with introducing Hanabi, now aged three, to the basics of combat, so that gave her a small reprieve if only from him.
Her training, on the other hand, had to continue. She decided against using her own family dojo and instead sought the solitude of the training grounds the village had to offer. Her reason was simple. She was training late into the night.
She found that her limited time after academy was over was insufficient to fix her problems, but knew the main house members would not appreciate someone making a ruckus in the middle of the night. Though hesitant at first, she finally decided on this course of action one day after witnessing Neji training in the dojo and seeing firsthand how much better than her he was. Although she didn't think she could become better than Neji, she knew she had to at least try. She was the heiress after all, and her father would be even more disappointed if her cousin, a branch house member, was better than her.
So she trained. And trained and trained. Every night she would come here, taking at least three hours of her time to perfect her nonexistent skills. She would start with katas, then a bit of shuriken and kunai throwing, and then, for the rest of the time, she would practice her gentle fist on the wooden dummies of the field. She would concentrate in her speed and strength and destroy one dummy after another until the skin of her hands was torn and bleeding and she could no longer feel anything. Then, she would go home, clean and bandage her hands as best she could, and go to sleep, only to do the same the next night.
Hinata sighed, finishing with the latest dummy. She let herself fall to the ground, her knees doing little to cushion her fall, and stared at her mangled hands. Because she didn't let enough time pass for them to heal, they were always hurting and sensible, but she had no other option. Any time now, her father would call her for training again, and she needed to be better, lest she hear and see and feel his disappointment again.
She closed her eyes, letting the spring breeze move her bangs away from her eyes and cool her damp skin, before standing up with effort. She prepared her things and walked back home, thinking that, at this rate, she was going to run out of her medicinal salve. It was time she made more.
Next chapter: Sasuke returns.