Chapter 47 - My SI Stash #47 - Kaleidoscope by TotoroX92 (Naruto) (2/2)

”You need to eat if you're going to be any use. You've been running yourself ragged helping both of us out this whole time and you've already got less stamina, you need the energy more than we do.”

I couldn't help it. My face fell a little as the despair began to well up beyond my strained ability to control.

”You'll get in trouble.”

Nikkei snorted contemptuously, head fl_i_c_k_i_n_g to the side.

”If that asshole wants to fail us for trying to take care of our teammate then he can suck it. I'd rather be a Genin forever than a jerk like him.”

Wasabi frowned at the wording, but nodded his own agreement with her statement.

There is a puff of chakra and Kakashi is present. He stares at us for a long moment in silence before something flickers through his eyes too fast for me to catch.

”You pass.”

No food ever tasted so sweet as the lunch I shared with my new team.

. . .

A/N: Nice and long, with a few lighter bits cause unrelieved tension is tiring. Having an a_d_u_l_t brain is helpful, but even that won't fix a simple lack of aptitude or practice.

Chapter 1.6

July 6, 5 AK

Every moment is precious.

This is my rule, my nindo, my 'Will of Fire', burning bright to keep me fueled through the night, to keep me punching the log when I am exhausted, to keep me sprinting down the track till I can no longer put one foot in front of the other, to keep me focused when petty distractions like mere physical pain try to tear me off the path.

Nikkei slumped to her b_u_t_t a few steps away, panting like her dog. Wasabi placed his hands on his knees and bent over to catch his breath, heaving c_h_e_s_t setting the soft creamy yellow of his overtunic fluttering. I paused for a moment to toss each of them a couple ripe cherries, popping a handful in my mouth before turning back to the training posts. I like cherries. Quick energy and a burst of flavor to keep me going.

”You shouldn't bend over like that, it limits airflow.”

I offer the brief observation before starting my set. My strikes on the training post are light, almost taps, gentle nudgings even, but they fall as fast as I can push my noodle weak arms, and that is enough. Nikkei groans and lets herself topple onto her back.

”Jeez Hiroki, don't you ever slow down? You did it, you're a Genin now, you can take a moment to chill.”

I do not pause in the kata, and my words slip out with every exhale as I maintain an even rhythm, heavier strikes serving to punctuate my rebuttal, tap tap tap goes the wood, tick tick tick goes the clock.

”No, I can't. I am still weak. Strength is life, Weakness is death. If I am dead, my team is dead. If my team is dead, the mission is failed. If we fail the mission, we fail the village. If we fail the village, the village dies, and everyone you have ever known, everything you have ever seen, everything you have ever loved, burns. There is no such thing as 'good enough', only 'as good as you can make it'.”

Wasabi rolls his eyes with a heavy sigh, but stretches to a standing position and pulls a groaning Nikkei up by the hand to join me at the neighboring post.

”You're gonna go bald if you keep stressing out like that.”

I take a moment to breathe and roll my creaking shoulders loose as he starts a kata and I flash him a wry smile before moving onto throwing practice.

”Just wait till we get our first C-rank.”

. . .

We fall into our roles easily enough.

Nikkei is close combat, our heavy hitter and frontline. Good stamina, strong strikes, capable of taking blows.

Wasabi is more mid range, he gains a fair bit of skill with ninja wire under Kakashi's tutelage and has a decent sized chakra reserve, enough for some simple fire Ninjutsu.

I opt for speed, a support position. My Taijutsu relies heavily on the use of senbon thrown at extreme close range to actually do damage; death by a thousand pinpricks. I practice the Replacement until I can manage it with a single handsign and I acc_u_mulate as many minor Genjutsu as I can; little things to throw off depth perception or induce transient nausea, trips and traps for the unwary that my teammates can take advantage of, to attack or reposition.

My reserves are small, so control is paramount; I practice every control exercise Kakashi knows, every thing I can think up, and everything I can beg or wheedle from any other ninja, even Uchiha. Sensei grudgingly gifts me a primer on basic Sealing which immediately becomes my most valuable possession, even though I am unlikely to benefit from it before making Chunin.

The Sharingan is not an instant win button, especially now, with only a single tomoe lazily orbiting each pupil. I can copy anything I see easily enough, but being able to regurgitate a perfect replica of a fist strike or fireball is useless without the proper timing that comes with an actual understanding of the technique in question. This is a lesson Kakashi knows quite well, and which many Uchiha never bother to learn.

”Your arms are too short.”

I stop the new kata and fold my hands neatly, giving Kakashi a mild smile, aiming for polite but apparently missing the mark given the nearly unnoticeable pursing of his lips beneath the mask.

”Is that something I could compensate for?”

He shrugs ambivalently, glancing over at Nikkei and Wasabi's practice spar to check their progress. Kenji is growing like a weed, and the little dog nips at Wasabi's heels at just the right time to throw off his next block, earning the boy a painful fist to the gut.

”Maybe. I could show you a little blade work, if you like. That'll take practice too.”

My teeth grind painfully behind my placid smile. Time, time, time, I don't have time.

”Would it be possible to get at least enough understanding that using the style wouldn't be detrimental? In a reasonable amount of time?”

Sensei blinks at me, his absurd hair swaying as he nods his head slowly.

”With the Sharingan to help… maybe. Hmm. Watch this.”

He pulls out a tanto and, checking to see my eyes are on, flows through a few simple forms that should mesh reasonably well with the Taijutsu style I had just been practicing. I nod slowly as the images embed themselves indelibly into my memory.

”Can I try?”

My squadmates pause in their spar for a moment as I take the short sword from our instructor and emulate what Kakashi-sensei just showed me, Nikkei's grumpy scowl growing more pronounced as I perfectly mimic the motions of our teacher. Albeit at a much reduced rate.

The center of my forehead creases slightly as I focus on the movements, not merely reproducing what I have seen, but battling an imaginary foe in my mind's eye, feeling out the changes in momentum, the flow I would need in actual combat.

Block, dodge, slash, deflect, and stab-

”No.”

I reform my face into placidity as I hand my instructor back his blade with a nod and smile of thanks.

”I don't think that will work very well for me. The weight is throwing me off a bit, and my current style is focused around speed. Moving that much metal around is impractical unless I can build a lot more muscle mass.”

The watching Inuzuka blinks in surprise, her ninken barking in amus_e_m_e_nt.

”What? That was plenty fast, what're you talking about?”

I smile blandly at her.

”I am a glass cannon; lots of damage, not much for defense. The Uchiha, particularly those with the Sharingan, are all about speed. We don't block hits, we dodge them. In principle we could use a hard style like the Strong Fist, but we don't have the physical build for it. For the same amount of time invested I would see a much larger payout from speed training rather than strength and stamina training.”

The team Kunoichi grumbles in confusion.

”Isn't the Sharingan supposed to make you super great at everything?”

Wasabi snorts and rolls his eyes, running a hand over his head to wipe away some of the acc_u_mulated sweat.

”Memorizing a jutsu isn't nearly as important as knowing when to use it. Just because Hiroki can make the same moves doesn't mean he can use them as well as someone who has practiced them and knows their strengths and weaknesses. Think; not every Uchiha uses all the techniques all the time.”

I give my squad a slightly more genuine smile of agreement.

”Just so. At best, the Sharingan is good for learning how to use a move quicker than traditional means. I get more out of practice, but I still need to practice. And having that many tools in your arsenal isn't necessarily a good thing; more than one Uchiha has been killed trying to use a move they just stole and performed without thinking.”

I rub gently at the itchy spot on the back of my hand and shrug apologetically.

”Practice makes perfect, not a fancy bloodline.”

And so we practice. We practice a lot.

. . .

Sometimes, very rarely, when I'm lying in a bathtub full of ice and silently cursing every deity I can think of after working myself to exhaustion, I think about maybe pulling back a little. Just a little. Maybe I don't need to study my fuinjutsu scrolls tonight, it won't hurt to get 6 hours of sleep for once.

Whenever I have these traitor thoughts I seek out Itachi, covertly, subtly, just to watch him move.

Itachi is death. He is silent, because the grave is silent. He is cold, because the heat of life has fled from him. He is smooth as black ice, fast as a snapping rope, sudden as a crumbling ledge.

He doesn't practice in the any of the public training grounds anymore, a subtle mark of ANBU status, but his very presence radiates perfectly controlled lethality even in a civilian setting. Every movement just so, not a single action wasted or without purpose. He is absolutely harmless, and that, more than anything, is what fills me with exactly the right sort of near manic terror to keep pushing as hard as I possibly can no matter how many bruises, cuts, sprains, or very late nights I need to sacrifice to the altar of power.

Itachi is harmless, until he is not.

. . .

Passing a basic teamwork test is not the same as becoming fast friends forever. We work together out of a sense of camaraderie which I try to help along, with mixed success, by being as helpful and eager to please as I can. Without unduly irritating my team with excessive obsequiousness.

But we aren't friends, and that might come back to bite us if allowed to continue.

”Would you like to come over tonight for a team dinner?”

I have timed my suggestion carefully, both for a window during which Father is unlikely to be home from a mission, and for a day when our training was slightly lighter than normal. Exhausted people want to go home and take a nap; tired and hungry people want free food and a little relaxation.

Nikkei shrugs indifferently and grunts an affirmative, throwing another one of the peaches we are harvesting for today's D-rank into the collection basket with expert accuracy.

”Sure, why not?”

Wasabi seems a bit more aware of possible repercussions, and glances quickly at the form of our Sensei, standing in the green shade a few yards away and flipping idly through a Bingo Book.

”It wouldn't be a problem, right?”

I offer up a confident smile, which I do not quite feel, and nod.

”Of course. Kakashi-sensei is a respected Jounin. I don't think there will be any problems.”

That is not quite true. Kakashi has been given legal clearance to hold the Sharingan from the clan, but they aren't happy about it. No one will try anything if he just comes by for an evening or two every once in awhile, but it might elicit some grumbling amongst the elders.

To be perfectly honest, I consider that a bonus. Anything I can do to subtly snub the clan is another step towards keeping myself safe from the purge. Feeble though the attempt admittedly is.

Everyone arrives, even Kakashi, though he is half an hour late. Mother is far too polite to comment on Nikkei's somewhat careless speech and Wasabi's occasional off-color joke, but I think they can pick up on the fact that it is politeness that keeps her from commenting. The Uchiha haven't quite mastered cutting politeness to the same degree as our distant cousins the Hyuuga (we make up for it in arrogance) but there is something about being improper around someone who you know won't say anything that makes one uncomfortable.

As my teammates begin slightly stilted small talk around the dinner table, I consider the problem of my clan anew. An Uchiha without clan backing has never happened before. Not even Itachi at his most overt, or Shisui's undying cheerfulness have actually openly flouted protocol in that way. If I emancipated myself from the clan, moved out of the compound, got a new name…

I don't know what would happen. I don't know if I would be allowed.

My lip quirks in a mirthless grin before I reshape it into a proper smile at one of Wasabi's milder jokes.

Scratch that, I know exactly what would happen.

Without the clan to raise a fuss about it, I would be quietly disappeared into ROOT, every trace of self erased through brutal conditioning, and sent to an early grave via suicide mission after suicide mission.

Perhaps that is the dark truth every member of the Hyuuga Branch House knows, deep down. Better to suffer the tyranny of the Main House than god only knows what outside their protective umbrella.

My shoulders slump, just a fraction of an inch as I take another bite of rice. It's a moot point, anyway; Genin get more legal rights, sure, but age is not entirely discounted. I need to be at least 12, or a Chunin, before I reach legal a_d_u_l_thood and can emancipate myself from my 'family'.

”So, how are you liking D-ranks?”

I blink at my mother, who is wearing a very slight smirk as she sips from the pale orange porcelain of her teacup, appreciating the break from morbid lines of thought and struck with the bizarre sensation every child has eventually when they realize their parents are people too.

Mother used to be a ninja so she likely remembers her D-ranks with equal aggravation.

Nikkei grumbled unhappily, arms folded into her lumpy tan jacket with a malcontented huff.

”Boring! Picking fruit, painting fences, I want a real mission!”

I smile cheerfully at her, thankful that her inexperience prevents her from reading my mood as accurately as mother often can.

”Well, it pays pretty well, doesn't it? And it's supposed to give you more chances to hone your skills. Peach picking is easier when you can walk up trees, nee?”

Kakashi nods approvingly, face solemn.

”Enjoy it while it lasts kiddies. You'll be going on real missions soon enough.”

. . .

Kakashi waits till the team has been together six weeks before getting us our first C-rank, a standard merchant escort job, three weeks out, 3 days back (ox drawn carts are painfully slow compared to ninja), minimal chance of hostile contacts, at worst maybe a few bandits.

I look myself over in the mirror carefully, ensuring I haven't missed anything.

Long sleeve, faded grey-green shirt (with a normal collar), darker grey pants, black ninja sandals. I tried to find grey sandals too, but apparently those aren't the current style in Konoha. A kunai pouch hangs from my right hip, filled mostly with senbon. Forehead protector mounted on black fabric tied tight across my brow, keeping my close cropped black hair out of the way. Tiny stress lines under my overlarge black eyes, and a chin just angular enough to avoid being called weak, but sadly removed from Itachi's bishounen looks. Pale skin, unblemished by exposure to the sun thanks to judicious application of sunblock, almost ghostly next to all the grey and black.

Everything in order.

I made a checklist of necessary supplies for each of us, and nag my teammates about it until they eventually fold and show me they packed everything. Particularly the medical supplies.

”Hiroki, I promise, we'll be okay. We probably won't even see any bandits, it's just going to be a long boring walk through western Land of Fire. You're freaking out the clients, man.”

I put my third riffle through the first aid kit on hold and glance over at the merchant caravan. Nobody is looking this way, and I give Nikkei a dour look.

Wasabi snickers at my overly intent expression as I resume the check.

”Why do you always take everything so seriously?”

I think on my reply while neatly packing everything away, hands moving by themselves by dint of long practice, letting my mind and body do their own thing.

”The following is purely hypothetical, and in no way indicates my views on reality, or should be taken in any way as having valuable informational content. Any replies should be formatted for maximum circuitousness, for reasons which may become apparent.”

Bandages, antiseptic, staples, tape, styptic-

”There exists the possibility, that one could imagine such an idea, as 'narrative causality'. That everything happens for a reason, and that reason is to make life a good story. Some might postulate that life is a comedy, and thus that if we start out a simple, seemingly innocuous mission with a statement superficially similar to one such as 'what could go wrong?' an S-rank missing nin will attempt to kill us in a horrible and messy fashion. Conceivably, for similar reasons, an individual might be heard to exclaim 'I have a bad feeling about this,' whereupon he would be chided by his more confident teammates, brush off the sensation, and be stabbed to death that night while he slept. This would be more in line with a tragedy or drama, serving as a touchstone moment for said teammates as to the seriousness of the job they now find themselves in.”

I sling my pack onto my back and face my surprised teammates.

”Even discussion of concepts such as the aforementioned is no guarantee that events will not proceed in directions concomitant with the aforesaid. It is merely a good defence. It breaks the flow, you see.”

Sensei's hand rests on my head, giving my short hair a friendly ruffle.

”Mah, Hiroki-kun, you worry too much. We'll all be just fine.”

I restrain the urge to flinch and close my eyes for a long breath.

”Why must you hurt me this way sensei?”

I can feel him making that infuriating eye-smile as he replies.

”It's my job.”

. . .

The mission goes off without a hitch, but I don't think I managed more than an hour of consecutive shuteye the entire month. The team shares a good laugh, and I lie, and promise I'll worry less.

. . .

A/N: The nice thing about having already written all this is that I don't have to worry about disappointing chapter lengths; I can use the breaks as ultra-heavy periods. I'm trying to avoid using Japanese if unnecessary, but some terms don't have a good english equivalent or just sound better in nihongo. Bishounen, for those not in the know, means 'beautiful young man' and is a thing in Japanese culture which refers to men who are good looking in a softer, more effeminate manner. Hiroki is pretty average in appearance for an Uchiha, but doesn't have particularly strong masculine features. Unhappy medium.

Chapter 1.7

Team dinners are still a thing, and after completing our second C-rank we feel the need for at least a little celebration. Nikkei's turn has come around again, and I am already faltering as the evening progresses, skulking in the deep indigo shadows stretched across the face of the compound by the warm orange light of the sun as it finishes setting. The Inuzuka are the least formal clan in Konoha, and every time our team comes by it seems to dissolve into a party of one kind or another as relations who just happened to be nearby slowly accrete onto the proceedings like the drifts of shed fur which acc_u_mulate in the corners of the houses.

One of Nikkei's cousins is hitting on Kakashi, while he tries valiantly to ignore the other man's advances. They seem to feel it only makes sense that the DogSummoner should be part of the Dog Clan, but Kakashi is transparently disinterested. This is the third Inuzuka to try and chat him up, and I think it is starting to be viewed as a challenge as I can see a few more shoving each other for pride of place and giving the Jounin speculative looks.

Nikkei is currently giving a younger sibling a fierce noogie, the upstart challenging her position as Beta in her little family unit getting a vigorous smack down. Her older brother is napping in a heap with his dog on the porch nearby, presenting a front of indifference while his slitted eyes observe the exchange with a calculating glint. It brings a twitch of smile to my face, a large enough motion that I notice the facade has drooped a little and I pull up my cheeks in my signature, highly realistic, grin.

Smile, gotta smile, no one likes an antisocial weirdo.

”You smell funny!”

I blink at the little Inuzuka glaring at me from more than a foot down. He looks somewhat familiar, though that could be just the clan markings, bright red triangles on his chubby little cheeks. I smile a little weaker, slightly less sure of myself in the face of his scrutiny.

”I'm… sorry? I'm Hiroki, Nikkei's teammate.”

The chibi grunts, lips pulling back slightly from his teeth. On an older Inuzuka that might be a concern, I've gotten that look from Nikkei before and it generally heralds no worse than a particularly intense spar, but on a kid that can't be more than 6 it is just a little disconcerting.

”I know who you are! Why're you smiling?”

Ahh, too many teeth. I modulate the expression, corners up but pearly whites safely concealed to stop presenting as a threat. It doesn't work.

”Hey! Don't ignore me!”

”Sorry. I… people like smiles? Usually? Uh...”

I back away half a step, but the pup pushes forward aggressively in response. Oh dear.

”Hey!”

Ahh, rescue. Thank goodness for the Inuzuka pack mentality.

Wait… is that… Hana? Bugger.

”Kiba! Who's this? He bothering you?”

Inuzuka Hana is around the same age as my teammates, which means she's at least five years older than me. And, if I am remembering correctly, Itachi's teammate. Maybe?

My eyes dart back to Kiba, flickering on for a moment on instinct as I inspect the future clan head. Or was that Hana? Or did Kiba challenge...?

”Oy! Eyes off my little bro!”

I blink and perception fades.

”Apologies Hana-sama. I'm a little… twitchy sometimes. I didn't mean to offend you or Kiba-sama.”

Her eyes narrow at the honorific, and I can't help the tiny flinch as I realise the slip, but her lip remains uncurled for the moment as she eyes me up and down.

”You're Nikkei's teammate, yeah? What's wrong with you? You sick or something?”

My shoulders hunch in slightly as I try to keep smiling, thoughts rushing to try and come up with a plausible sounding explanation. I'm not sure what the problem is; Nikkei never mentioned anything about a weird smell. Then again, she doesn't have the sort of crazy good nose that I would expect from the main line of the family. What's a better explanation than 'I am going to be murdered in a few years'?

”Hey Hana!”

The Inuzuka's attention is dragged away as Wasabi bustles up, a companionable arm thrown around my shoulders as he leans over me.

”I haven't seen you in years! How're the triplets?”

I relax minutely as my teammate expertly diverts attention away from my discomfort and onto every Inuzuka's favorite subject, affording me the opportunity to settle back into the more polite blankness I feel safe in. Eventually Nikkei comes over as well, giving Wasabi a quick look over my head before loudly announcing that dinner is ready.

”You okay?”

I suppress the twitch and merely smile cordially at Wasabi, who winces slightly at the expression. They're getting to know me well enough to see through the mask; I'll have to work harder. No one likes a party pooper, everything is fine.

”Of course! I guess I need to change my shampoo or something huh?”

My smile slips a little bit into something more open, and my gaze slides away uncomfortably at the implied admission of weakness.

”Thanks for the save.”

Wasabi gives me a pat on the back and a grin in return, pushing me towards the house from whence admittedly delicious smells are leaking.

”What are friends for?”

...friends?

. . .

A/N: Yeah, the SI doesn't get magic perfect memory. Some stuff is big and easy to remember, but seriously, it's been nearly 9 years by this point, how much of canon can he be expected to recall accurately? Also, if you haven't picked up on it yet, AK means 'After Kyuubi' in the dating system. Some people use 'After Founding' but then the dates would all be af. :/

Chapter 1.8

March 11, 6 AK

I stare at the dead bandit before me, my head slightly c_o_c_ked and kunai still held in a firm grip by the hand now hanging loosely by my side. He's sort of handsome, in a rugged, dirty sort of way, I suppose; blue eyes and tanned skin and all. The wind in the trees is quiet, just a slight ruffling of the fresh spring leaves, new growth tinted almost teal by the bright Fire Country sun, and the smell of blood is faintly overshadowing the rather pleasant odor of recent rain that I had been enjoying for the last few days of travel. My eyes slide loosely over the camp, now still where before it had been a riot of activity, briefly catching on a cl_u_s_ter of small yellow flowers poking out from between a few bits of granite, now marked with a concealing splatter of muddy red.

Was that it?

The short knife in my hand has only a slight smearing of red over the matte black metal, and it taps against my t_h_i_g_h gently, leaving a small stain on the dark grey fabric of my pants as it continues in its absentminded oscillation. I expected, I don't know, maybe a little fear from looking at a dead body. 'Oh, that could be you, look out!', but the whisper of terror is strangely absent. Perhaps I am too used to it to hear.

The bandit has stopped oozing while I ruminated, still staring in the general direction of my feet. There is a lot of blood in the human body but once your heart stops it doesn't flow as freely. The pool spreading from the gaping wound in his neck isn't growing anymore, already transitioning from verdant crimson to a dull and crusty brick-brown.

Everyone talked about first kills being big life changing events but… I wasn't really feeling it. Was I in shock?

My free hand pushes inside my collar to press a pair of fingers against my pulse point. Pulling it back and extending the palm flat, fingers extended, confirms my findings. No trembling. Steady pulse. No symptoms of shock. Though I do seem to be having a little trouble looking away from his face, and my thoughts are slipping through my mind a trifle freely...

My lips purse in a small frown, my eyebrows pinching under my forehead protector.

”Hiroki.”

I turn smoothly on my heel to look at Kakashi, face twitching slightly as I abort the habitual smile response. Don't smile after killing someone, weirdo.

”Yes, sensei?”

The Hatake looks me over slowly, his eye drifting for only a moment to the kunai held at my side, a flicker of something vaguely unhappy clouding his placidity for a moment before he reestablished eye contact.

”Are you alright?”

I consider the question carefully, teeth pulling gently on my lower lip.

”I… think so? I dunno. I sort of expected something a little more…”

I trail off, gaze tracking over the handful of other bandits scattered around the camp in various states of disassembly.

”It's just, inside, we're all just… It was so easy. Just a little push and… no more person. Just spoiling meat.”

And it was easy. Really easy. The Sharingan, even with only two tomoe in each eye, makes tracking movement effortless. So long as the enemy isn't significantly faster than me I am practically invulnerable; I can simply permit the natural flow of events to bring the enemy to my blade.

”It's alright. You did the right thing.”

My gazes snaps back to the Jounin and I blink, nonplussed, as he steers my train of thought to completely foreign tracks.

”I was following orders.”

Kakashi-sensei normally displays very little affect, but there is still a subtle difference between a guarded expression of assessment and one of blank incomprehension.

”What?”

My head tilts a bit to the other side as I consider my words, eyes tracking the arcing lines of splattered crimson across the meagre possessions of the outlaws as my attention wanders slightly.

”You said I did the right thing. I was following orders. Orders cannot be right or wrong, they just are. I serve Konoha; following orders is what I do. Saying I did something right or wrong would be like saying the sun was right or wrong. It can't be right or wrong, in fact those adjectives can't even be logically applied. It would be like saying what I did was purple, or what I did was banana flavored. I suppose you could say it was the right thing in a… what do you call it… analogy? No; metaphorical. In a metaphorical way. Like, it was very efficiently done and being efficient is logically better than being inefficient so it was the 'right' thing to do.”

I bend down and finally wipe my kunai off on the ragged clothes of the bandit, face still drawn down slightly into a frown. I glance back up at Kakashi curiously.

”But I get the sense that isn't what you meant.”

Kakashi is looking at me with a vestige of worry and more than a little exasperated concern.

”I was going to say something about how these were bad men who would have hurt other people if we didn't stop them, but now… Hiroki, you know there are such things as orders which are morally wrong, right?”

Okay, I really don't get where this is going anymore.

”Yes…?”

”Okay. So, if an order is morally wrong, that makes the order wrong.”

I shake my head in negation.

”Only if you use morals as a defining factor. But we're ninja. We are the textbook definition of amoral. Literally: devoid of moral consideration. There is virtually nothing we won't do for pay; it is the entire reason we go on missions.”

I wave vaguely in the direction of the nearby corpses, the kunai glinting briefly in the anemic sun shining through the thin haze of smoke over the camp before I tuck it away in the pouch hanging on my hip. It'll need a fresh coat of paint, I guess.

”Sometimes the mission comes with an objective that is morally praiseworthy, like killing bandits. Sometimes it's strangling orphans. But I'm a ninja. I don't care. I care about my team, and the village. They're safe, so the world is correct. And I get paid.”

My teacher rubs his forehead in small circles, the backs of his armoured gloves reflecting the blue of the clear sky, his expression unhappy but no longer alarmed.

”We don't take missions just for pay Hiroki.”

”Yes we do...? There is more than one kind of pay sensei. I get paid by fulfilling my duty to the village, by keeping my team safe, by lots of things.”

I can see that my answer is not quite satisfying to the Jounin, but I can't quite figure out why. My breathing remains deep and even and my eyes stay wide and open as they track from point to point.

”Hiroki, what would you do if you were given an order to kill your teammates. Would you follow it?”

I am still feeling oddly distracted from the current situation, my thoughts not digging in as far as I would like in the stream of consciousness. It takes me a moment to arrange the ideas in a coherent order.

”No? My first loyalty is to Konoha. The Hokage is Konoha, but Konoha is not the Hokage. If the Hokage issued orders which were contrary to Konoha, then he is no longer part of Konoha. So we would replace the not-Konoha Hokage with a Konoha Hokage. A Konoha Hokage would not order the death of the Konoha members of my team. ...Unless they were traitors, I guess, in which case killing my team would be the Konoha thing to do. I think... I would act in the best interests of Konoha. Doing so will always be... correct.”

”Hiroki, you're doing it again.”

I blink at a pallid and clammy faced Wasabi before glancing down at the spot where blood has begun seeping out of the back of my hand, immediately stilling my scratching fingers. I catch the thrown roll of bandages with a muttered thanks and bind up the minute abrasions.

Kakashi stares at me for a long moment before sighing and turning towards where Nikkei is faintly retching next to a pile of sick as her ninken noses at her comfortingly, my squadmate's gaze fixed on her own freshly made corpse.

”Well at least you aren't loud.”

. . .

Mother knew about the mission. I can tell the moment I walk in the front door and smell frying chicken. It shouldn't come as a surprise; the village is actually pretty good about that sort of thing, on balance. Missions which are likely to come with some psychological aftershocks are something we can take time with, for now, during peacetime.

There is something to be said for the more frenetic methods of desensitization, for throwing the pre-teens freshly admitted to the ninja force into the thick of it, for giving them no chance to fester or ruminate about the death. It's the method I would have prefered, to be perfectly honest. I don't like having time to myself to think about… uncomfortable topics. At any rate, if the ninja in question has a support system already in place the mission office almost always sends a note to give the parents or extended family or what-have-you a heads up to be extra supportive. It wouldn't do to let the investment the village has made by training us go to waste with a psychological breakdown after our first proper mission.

I was expecting it, though. Honestly 'investigate' a bandit camp? As if a ninja ever just looked at bandits.

The fried chicken is a rare treat, not something mother makes often, for the smell has a tendency to seep into nearly everything; the bed linens will all need to be changed tomorrow and the house aired out to get rid of the greasy odor. She only puts forth the extra effort for special occasions.

Well, I don't mind anyway since I have the next two days on leave. Helping with the chores will be a chance to be with mom for a bit longer.

”Hiroki? Is that you?”

”Hey mom.”

Yuki pokes her head out of the kitchen, her lovely hair pulled back into a messy bun to keep it from trailing in the food. She wipes her hands off on a kitchen towel and swats a bit at the flour on her apron before pulling me into a tight hug.

”How's my little ninja?”

I can't help the fondly exasperated smile at her words. I'm still pretty tiny; she gets a free pass for now. The thought pushes my mind to thinking of the future, and the realization that I'll probably never be old enough to tease her back about calling me little while she's alive. I gasp silently and pull her into an even tighter hug, holding back the tears which threaten to slip my control.

Mother has always been almost psychic about my mood, much to my confoundment, and to her my distress is transparent. She starts rubbing soothing circles into my back and rocking me slightly back and forth.

”Hey, hey, it's okay sweetie. I know it's scary having to hurt someone. It's okay Hiroki. ”

I pull in a shaking breath, thankful for her misattribution of my distress to my recent mission rather than thoughts of my own mortality, and hers.

”I know mom. I know. I'm okay. It's just- It was so easy. It was so small. And we're all just, fragile things, like glass walking around, and one sharp tap is all it takes and- I'd never see you again.”

”Oh sweetie, I'll always be here for you. Even if something happened, I'll always be here for you. Even if you can't see me I'm still watching over you, and I always will be.”

I force a smile, keeping the glimmer of tears at bay, but I know the horrible truth and I mouth it silently into her hair as she picks me up and carries me into the kitchen.

No, you won't.

. . .

A/N: First level sharingan gives photographic memory. Second level heightens perception and reflexes for limited predictive powers. Third level allows virtual precognition via hyper-accurate body language reading. Skilled users can cast genjutsu via eye-contact. There are no straight roads to power. If something seems awful, don't think about it!

Chapter 1.9

Feb 22, 7 AK

Our first Chunin exam finally comes. Kakashi is not pressuring us to advance for we have no direct competition and nothing to prove to the other villages. He has waited a full year to even bring the matter to our attention, and even then we decide to wait for the one after next to give us more time to prepare. This is doubly good because it means the exam is in Suna, our one real ally amongst the Hidden Villages, for as much as that is worth.

Kakashi is careful with us, his first team. He asks us what we think we need to achieve in order to be qualified for Chunin, and pushes us till we meet those goals. The pressure is more than welcome for the growth it brings.

It is not the end all and be all for me to pass, but I am looking forward to it with a sort of coiled anticipation in my gut as it would push me one step closer to Itachi's record. In the back of my mind is the half formed expectation that we will succeed on our first try, for my team is quite strong and we have all made significant strides. It might even be the new trend, my pessimism ensuring success, somehow. Facing challenges, difficult, seemingly insurmountable, and then victory snatched from the jaws of defeat. Fitting, though the thought is quickly crushed as a traitorous seed of weakness. Even if it was true I wouldn't dare to think it lest my confidence prove its undoing.

However the promotion would serve a very important purpose for with a rank of Chunin I will gain access to higher rank jutsu. I still need to grow, still need time to master what I have already, for I am not a prodigy like Itachi, but I may not have that time and it may be that having even a single high rank technique partially mastered may be the difference between life and death.

I will not die. I must be strong.

. . .

The first test was too easy. The answers were hidden in the etchings along the ceiling, with a few decoy test takers in the audience to cheat off of. Child's play for an Uchiha. Though maybe I'm biased. It's making me twitchy.

I scrutinize the competition from my position partially shielded by my teammates. Nikkei and Wasabi have both started into their growth spurts and now rather tower over me, giving my comparatively tiny body plenty of room to hide and quietly observe the new testing area from within the tepid comfort of their shade.

Hot, hot, hot, how I hate the heat, and the dull dusty brown expanse of the desert. The wind kicked up a few times on the way here, howling across the expanse of sand and rubbing exposed skin raw with airborne grit. The test area has a few rocky outcroppings visible in the distance, precious shelter from the heat and the wind. My gaze flits over the other competitors, cataloguing the various idiosyncrasies visible in the spectrum of primarily brown and white and tan clad Genin.

The exams in Suna are less well attended than in other countries; they might not be known for being hostile to foreigners in the same way Kiri, Kumo, and Iwa are, but simply getting to the Hidden Village is a three day hike across open desert.

The other teams are a pretty even mix of kids in their midteens. I am the youngest person here by a wide margin, though there are a few teams of Genin from Suna that look barely out of the academy. A few singletons too, which was a surprise, though one I should have expected. Konoha is big on teamwork, and other nations acknowledge its use too, but not to nearly the same extent. The biggest advantage of the Leaf has always been its larger population, meaning we generally field fewer active units but can complete missions faster and with a higher success rate than a village like Sand.

”Each unit will be given a token!”

My eyes snap to the proctor and flicker on for a moment to catalogue his appearance and mannerisms.

”Your unit will need three tokens to pass on to the next round! This is the survival portion kiddies; you're going to be out in the desert, and if you screw up, there's a good chance you'll die. If you do decide to forfeit-”

His sharp eyes seem to focus on the younger participants preferentially and I return his gaze with an impassive smile-

”Set off one of these flares! We'll come get you. Lethal force is permitted, but not encouraged.”

Hmm. Sensible. So far as I know there isn't much riding on this exam. Suna wants to make a good showing in the finals of course, to attract more business since there has already been whispers that their Daimyo is becoming less generous, but I don't recognize any important figures in the current pool of competitors. No known clan heirs or last wielders of legendary bloodlines. It's actually possible that our team is the most important one here, simply by virtue of having an Uchiha and being students of Hatake Kakashi. What an odd thought.

I accept the small wooden disc from the proctor with a silent nod of thanks before slinging my pack over my shoulder. A loose clasp rattles slightly before I hook it shut again, a little sleight of hand hopefully fooling anyone watching into thinking I put the token inside when I actually store it in the seal tag stuck to my c_h_e_s_t. It is a double bluff, an attempt to look clumsy at something easy so they'll not only look in the wrong place, but underestimate our skills. Or at least my skills.

No, don't think that way.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. The Sharingan is not an instant win. The Sharingan is not an instant win. Lots of things can get past it, like puppets, of which I can see at least a few.

Don't get c_o_c_ky. Don't get overconfident. Be prepared. Be calm. Be observant.

Our starting point is a fair distance away from the other competitors, but not so far that we wouldn't be able to find the other teams in the expansive training environment. The rocks will likely be points of fierce, but brief, combat.

”Anyone nearby?”

Wasabi glances at Nikkei for confirmation and she and Kenji sniff the air diligently before she is forced to shrug in disgruntled uncertainty.

”I don't smell anything close by, I don't think. There's… something. Oil, like on those puppets. But it isn't fresh, and I can't tell what direction.”

The other boy on the team frowns gently, chewing his lower lip in a small show of nerves.

”One of us needs to work on sensing after this. Your nose is great Nikkei, but it isn't infallible.”

”I'll make a note of it. We can talk to Kakashi-sensei after we're through here. We can't fix it now.”

Wasabi grunts in acknowledgement of my interjection as we begin to move across the dunes towards the nearest outcropping of stone, maybe a dozen kilometers away.

”Yeah. Well. Keep an eye on your canteens, but don't skimp too much. Better to run out than dehydrate with water still to hand.”

I blink as he gives me a raised eyebrow and smile faintly before nodding in acceptance of his concern.

A little chakra helps the sand stick together beneath our feet and leaves less in the way of tracks, but it is still a hot and tiring slog across the sunny wastes to get to our target. The Sharingan is relatively energy efficient for the Uchiha, but my reserves are still small so it only turns on for a brief survey as we crest the top of every other dune. A sensible precaution, as I kill no less than three scorpions and a snake with senbon on the short journey.

”Are those safe to eat? I don't wanna get poisoned.”

I flip the snake over to examine its markings as Kenji sniffs at the bugs.

”Should be. Better than your cooking at any rate.”

I give my grumbling kunoichi teammate a little smirk before bringing my attention back to the issue at hand, smile fading.

”I'm not sure about the scorpions. Snake will be fine though. Wasabi?”

A searing hot kunai cleans and cooks the meat simultaneously without the need of a campfire. It is only enough to stretch our rations though, and I pass around a few cereal bars pulled from my pack as we spend a moment regaining our strength in the shade; Nikkei breaks off a chunk and shares it with her partner alongside some careful sips from her canteen. The dessert is punishing, and I can already feel the beginnings of a sunburn on the exposed skin of my cheeks despite the judicious use of sunscreen.

The desert shimmers in the heat, waves of distortion from the rising hot air as the sun creeps lower towards the horizon. I stand to suggest we start moving only to stumble suddenly, my muscles tingling and trembling.

The transition to panic mode is immediate, but the rush of energy has me tripping over myself and falling to my knees, a burning sensation building in my gut. I can dimly hear the sound of my teammates retching and the noise sets me off in turn, my eyes searing in the flood of frantic energy. Poison, where, how, stupid, not like this, I will survive-

There. The cereal bars. With my eyes on I can see the little puncture marks on the packaging. Stupid, why didn't I check?

”Well, that was a lot easier than I expected. Guess even Uchiha need experience.”

I push myself to my hands and knees for a moment before slumping back down as a lone figure pushes its way out from under the sand nearby. This isn't right, this isn't how it's supposed to be, how it's supposed to end, I can't die here, I can't die from this, from carelessness-

The Suna Kunoichi smirked under her veil and a scorpion puppet the size of a dog scuttles over to begin poking through our packs as Kenji snarls and tries to guard his mistress.

”Hmm. Hide it somewhere else? Tell you what, tell me where and I'll give you the antidote.”

My face tightens into a fierce scowl before the sound of my teammates writhing in pain reaches me. I glance over at them as another spike of pain shoots from my stomach. I didn't ingest as much, I might be safe, I might be less safe because of my body weight, it's just astupid test-

”Here.”

Trembling fingers slide under my shirt to access the storage tag. The disc tumbles from my shaking hand to roll across the closely packed sand under the rock before it is snatched up by the scorpion puppet. The enemy ninja smirks again and flicks a small vial towards us, but her puppet turns towards me and clacks its claws menacingly.

”Now, what about those fancy eyes of yours?”

How dare she, you can't have them, they are mine, I bled for them, no one can take them from me-

My mouth spreads in a tooth baring sneer as I pull up my shirt enough to show off an explosive tag, eliciting a snort of amus_e_m_e_nt from the Kunoichi.

”Aww, I was just messing with you! Here, I'll even call the proctors to come pick you up. No hard feelings, right? Ally?”

The glaring red light of the flare and the crimson smoke plume it sends up are barely noticed as I crawl towards my teammates, mind slipping in and out of focus as I give each of us only a few drops. After the 'joke' about stealing my eyes I cannot discard the possibility that this is another trap. Light footsteps on the sand catch my attention and my head swings round to see if a new threat has appeared.

The Sand-nin proctor raised a scornful eyebrow at our dishevelment before sneering ever so slightly.

”Squad 19 of Konoha, disqualified.”

. . .

I do not take failure well.

. . .

A/N: Small breaks from angst... ish? This story isn't terribly long you'll see, so even with a heavy tone it should not quite cross into unbearability.