WHAT IS THIS? ANOTHER CHAPTER?
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I take a tentative step forwards, praying that the shrieking will die away and the phantom figure from yesterday will dissipate.
Blink.
The piercing noise stops, to my relief. And then there's a blissful silence, save for the panting of late students running into school with their bags bobbing up and down behind them. I recognise Moegi streaming past and sending a brief wave before disappearing into another hallway.
Snap out of it, Tenten, you're just hearing things.
I swivel around for extra measure, skimming the immediate corridor for any signs of red paint or creepy messages. None. My breathing starts slowing down to a normal pace as I lean against the door of Umino's classroom, chest rising and falling with each intake and outtake of breath. The distinct smell of cleaning liquid and sweat flows into my nostrils the moment I calm down enough to start registering the other events transpiring around me, like the outline of Gai running to the beat of his exercise music in the school gym, and the disturbing notion that not one person passing by seems to have heard a thing. Which leads to two different, yet equally harrowing hypotheses:
One, my auditory cortex is acting up and everything unusual I've been hearing over the past two days is absolute bogus. (Rebuttal: But that doesn't explain why everything feels and sounds so real.)
Two, only I can hear the noises.
And, honestly, as bad as it sounds, I would take cranial dysfunction over the second option any day.
If training with Lee for three straight years has taught anyone anything, it's that exercise is the best aphrodisiac in the world. So, for the first time in days, and during first period no less (undoubtedly, Umino will be stamping a cold, hard detention next to my record), my feet carry themselves over to the dojo for some hearty frustration-venting, stress-relieving, one-sided violence.
Fun fact: it really doesn't hurt that no teacher ever ventures into the dojo unless they're immune to the scent of sweat, like Gai, who advocates for fitness and body positivity so fervently that he wouldn't kick me out even if he had to, "legal action be damned".
The pungent smell of perspiration diffuses throughout the centre with increasing rapidity when I start sinking my fists into the bag and round housing it into oblivion. Bend, twist, release. The bag swings up higher from the impact and creaks as it whooshes down like a pendulum. Breathe, Tennie. You're not going crazy. There's a perfectly logical explanation for everything - the weird noises, the raid, the paint, the threats.
It's just a stupid prank.
Please be a stupid prank.
"Fancy seeing you here," Temari angles a not-so-subtle glance at the flushed cheeks and sopping wet hair that is indicative of a post-exercise shower and frowns, "Where have you been?"
"In the dojo," I shrug, settling my tray onto the designated cafeteria table. "I didn't feel like going to class."
Which isn't exactly a lie, so to speak, as much as it is veiled truth.
She watches me carefully when I sit down and then turns away. "I heard something interesting from Hinata," she says with a tone of nonchalance.
"Oh?"
"She tells me that Neji told her that he's visiting your place tonight, at seven."
"So, does she also tell you that I told Neji that his visitation was pending approval, and from not-me?"
Temari lets the corners of her lips droop dramatically. "No. But I am glad that you two are on speaking terms again."
"Yeah, me too," I take a moment to breathe. "But, just curious. Did Neji happen to say anything else to Hinata...before she told you?"
"HA," Temari shouts, slamming her palms onto the hard plastic of the table as she stands up, chair legs scraping deafening against the floor. The sound echoes throughout the cafeteria and draws some startled glances from nearby patrons. "Not really," she shrugs, feigning disinterest and seating herself again. "Just that he wouldn't be home for dinner at Buckingham Palace again."
"I thought he lived with his mother?"
"Really?" She responds, genuinely incredulous.
"That's what he told me," I bite into a sandwich, letting its contents slide down my throat. Of course, right after that, he'd invited himself to my house for the night. And then my stalker decided to make themself known - at school. So clearly, they were a student, or someone who was skilled enough to disappear at a moment's notice. But seriously, that noise.
"Hm," she hums contemplatively, giving me a funny look.
"What?"
"I just had no idea he lived with her, is all. In fact, none of us did. Except you, now." Neji suddenly makes an appearance in the cafeteria with Naruto on one side and a grouchy Sasuke on the other. Temari eyes them thoughtfully. "Fascinating."
Fishy, is more like it. Hyuga heiress goes haywire over truffle advocacy, Hyuga poster boy pops in with a haircut - which, going by the rest of the Hyugas in their mansion, is uncommon to the point of unspeakable - and a determination to expose...something...tonight, Uchiha exchange student happens to move into the apartment next door, and right after making up with aforementioned Hyuga heiress, the apartment gets ransacked and creep-stamped, and said creep comes to school and disappears. Note to self: target Naruto to find out what happened at home; alternatively, ask Hinata herself. And avoid Sasuke.
Even if he has amazing cheekbones.
And the dreams. The first few are few enough to be dismissed as an overactive imagination. But, afterwards, it's coincidental. Almost real.
"-right, Tenten?"
"What?"
Temari looks over, mildly affronted that I didn't hear what she just said, and exchanges a Look with an apple-toting Ino, who responds with a suspicious glare.
"You were thinking about Neji, weren't you?"
"No," I say quickly, noticing said boy being pushed to the taekwondo team's table by Naruto. "Shut up. And I wasn't, for your information."
She folds her hands together and places her chin on top of her fingers. "Then what, pray tell, were you thinking about so deeply that prevented you from listening to the dulcet tones of my voice?"
"They weren't dulcet-"
"Yeah, that's great Temari," Ino waves her right hand dismissively, using the other to bring the apple to her mouth and bite it. "So, in all seriousness. Are you alright, Tenten?"
"Why? Why wouldn't I be?"
"You've just been a little...off. Lately. I mean, more so than usual."
"Wow. And I'm fine," I lie, but stress the last word anyway - because who in their right mind would believe my recounts of the past few days? Definitely not her, or Temari, or anyone except my grandparents. There simply isn't any point, at this moment in time, in venting about something that seems more likely to be happening in my mind as the days pass. "I'm tired, is all. From the dojo practice."
They see through the lie, clearly, and send each other another cryptic glance before resuming their meals.
"All I'm saying," Ino continues airily, "Is that if you're feeling bothered by anything at all, we're your friends and we're here to help."
"I'm fine," I respond sharply. Because, on top of everything that's been happening lately, there's still that big, gaping question of where my mother is. Where she had been, when Asuma Sarutobi died in a car crash. Why she hadn't been in that dinky little apartment next to Ichiraku's that she'd left behind right after his death. Why, when I'd been staying in it for months in the hopes that she'd come back and pull me into her arms and tell me that it's alright, you don't have to deal with this without me anymore, she hadn't shown up.
No calls, no texts, no emails. Not even a letter, or a word to her mother.
"I'm fine," I repeat in a softer tone. They spot the lie again, but choose to shrug it off. "Thank you."
You are no stranger to gilded finery. You live in a world where golden dragons line hallways, beads of jade crafted by the finest workers hang down the necks of court women, and food served on plates of gold are placed at your dinner table.
A delicate box of jewels delivered to your bedroom has no effect on you, in contrast to the letter accompanying it. Your husband, despite being a man of war, writes with elegant calligraphy.
He has been away for far longer than the expected time, but you are a patient woman. You spend your days preparing for your child's arrival, making small talk with the palace maids and busying yourself enough to collapse onto your bed in a state of fatigue every night.
And one day, the letters stop arriving. The ones you send out never find their home in the hands of a man with pale, white hands. You don't need to see the messenger arriving at the Palatial Court, scroll in hand and grim expression in place, to know what Fate has had in store for your husband. With great effort, you try to bar yourself from crying.
"Lord Hyuga has bestowed the greatest honour upon our country."
The Emperor - your father - sends him away with a flick of his wrist, eyes unwaveringly staring at the space where the messenger had been standing. There is a sudden kick from the inside of your belly. You lurch forwards, wincing at the pain but smiling sadly. Your mother looks to the side in concern.
"The child will be strong, like his father."
Another kick. The bottom of your robes begin to wet at a rapid pace. You lurch forward again, this time in unbearable pain.
The maids rush forward, hands frantically touching your shoulders, and then you hear your father roaring for the Royal Physician to arrive immediately.
It is time.
"A boy." The Physician beckons for the maids to wash the infant as soon as you feel them separate your baby from the cord. Some rush over with wet towels, while others hurriedly clean up the bloody mess on your bedsheets.
You feel weak, your throat sore and hoarse from the screaming. Suddenly, you realise why so many women dread childbirth.
But you are inexplicably, uncontrollably curious. "Let me see him," you order. Does he have his father's eyes? Or your brown hair? Will he speak like his father, write in fluid script and poetic verse? Or will he be more akin to you, with a sharp tongue and desire to escape? A desire to run away? The nurse carries your child over to you with a bright smile, announcing that the Emperor and Empress are pleased with the news.
At the very least, he will be loved by his grandparents. Still shaking and weak, you watch your baby being lowered into your arms, the blanket wrapped around him a brilliant blue. The moment he makes contact with your fingertips, however, results in another painful lurch. You gasp, eyes widening, desperately looking up at the Physician and nurses, who rush back to the end of your bed and lift up the blankets.
"There is another one!" One of them shouts, to your horror, "I can see the head!"
Your baby begins to cry, and you beg for him to be close to you. The nurses smile at you sympathetically. "After you are finished, you will be seeing both at the same time."
Your lower lip quivers, ready to outright demand to see your son, at the very least his face, but then your body jerks again and you scream.
You feel blood oozing down your legs, onto the mattress, and a sudden pain in your back. You breathe heavily, black spots flooding your vision, then look towards the baby in the adjacent cot and see his pale face and dark, dark hair. The nurses are patting a wet cloth over your forehead, begging you to keep pushing. Your body is screaming for you to rest, to stop, but it is your mind - fatigued from the simultaneous loss of a husband, elated from the birth of a son - that pushes you.
Hours later, the scream can be heard on the other end of the bed, a piercing shriek and the sensation of another mass leaving your body, is both relieving excruciatingly painful.
"A girl," the nurses note, with a less enthused tone. You nod, feeling yourself losing consciousness. The speech in the background is becoming nothing more than a soft hum. Your vision fades in and out intermittently. When you look up, the Physician is congratulating you, and then your husband is there, smiling softly and reaching for your cheek.
And then you know.
"Wait for me." You say. He smiles gently.
"I'm coming."