Naruto: The Outsider's Resolve

[Fiction]

He looked around the strange room with nigh a thought in his brain. It was as though he had achieved the meditative state of zero thoughts, free from errant thoughts of worldly desire and the hundred things to worry about... or, as in his case, no thoughts at all.

His eyes wandered around the lecture hall with a pitched floor and tiered seating, so those in the rear were seated higher than those in the front, allowing them to see the lecturer— a man standing behind a podium, facing the blackboard, writing in chalk that made tapping sounds every time the hard chalk stick hit the coarse surface. Given that there was a teacher in the classroom, it was natural there were students as well, sitting at their tables, and he sat alongside them. They looked young— he couldn't tell how young from the back of their heads.

He was quite far and above the blackboard, sitting near the back. He didn't know if he was part of the backbenchers, for he didn't know what was behind him; his neck didn't seem to work, nor did he want to turn back to see. Only his eyes moved, allowing him to perceive the strangeness and unfamiliarity in front of him.

Shuffle. There was a movement beside him caught in his periphery. His body as a whole twitched as he jumped in his spot on the long sitting bench. And that seemingly released the lock that was binding his body; suddenly, he felt his clammy palms, the clothes sticking to his soaked back, the back of the head where the hair felt drenched, and his legs were shaking as if hell-bent on causing an earthquake. It was thanks to the sturdy furniture that no one noticed. His heart seemed to take inspiration from his legs as it then thumped like a junky on adrenaline. And when he raised his hand to wipe a sweat drop trickling down his brow, he noticed the labored breathing on his palm.

The mind followed the body, and suddenly the dam opened, and hundreds of thoughts rushed in. Where was he? How did he get there? Why couldn't he remember how he got here, where it was? Who were all these people? He seemed to be in a classroom, so why couldn't he recognize anyone? Where was he before this? Why couldn't he remember?!

His breathing hitched in the back of his windpipe as the question pushed through all the others.

...Who was he?

He felt hot like he was set on fire; his head felt heavy, and his eyes burned. Sitting straight felt uncomfortable, leaning against the chair's backrest felt even worse, and putting his head down on the table made breathing difficult. The large classroom felt small and congested, and all he wanted to do was to run outside and get some fresh air.

"Takuma."

The voice cut through the ringing in his ear, and suddenly everything torturing vanished like it never existed. He looked up and saw the teacher looking in his direction... no, the teacher was looking at him. He realized that the teacher was speaking to him. What did he call him by?

Takuma— that sounded familiar. That was his name, wasn't it?

Takuma... Takuma... Takuma...

"Takuma."

NO! That wasn't his name. That most definitely wasn't his name— then why sounded so... natural. Why?

Then the curtain was pulled back, and everything hidden behind it was revealed. The memories came rolling in. He knew who he was. The horror of remembering anything receded— and yet, the fear of the unknown still loomed over his neck like a sharpened guillotine ready to lop his head off. He wasn't supposed to be here, where his current location was supposed to be.

"Takuma!"

Finally, he reacted and jumped up and stood straight. "Yes," he said. He didn't know why, but the name instinctually made him respond, even though it wasn't his name.

The teacher stood frowning with his lips pressed into an unhappy white line. He could feel and see the eyes of other students on him; some were snickering as if his situation was humorous, while others just observed the show.

"Were you sleeping in the class, Takuma?" said the teacher, not pleased.

A voice inside his head whispered: 'Kibe-sensei.' That was the teacher's name, he knew instinctively.

"No, I was not," he said. Wait a second, he thought. The sound— the words— that came out of his mouth wasn't correct; he knew two languages, but the one he spoke was neither. He gulped and could acutely feel the tongue in his mouth that had formed the words with such ease and natural form, without a hint of awkwardness, as he was a native.

"Then you won't mind coming here and solving this question," Kibe said, slapping the backboard lightly beside the problem written in pink chalk.

There was something that was forcing-guiding-propelling him from within, something just at the edge of his attention, there but out of reach. Stopping him from giving up the pretense and giving into the bubbling pit of sheer force of emotions building in the space between his heart and stomach. He couldn't put his finger on it as his gaze went to the writing on the blackboard for the first time. For a split second, he didn't recognize the characters, but before the panic could set in, suddenly, he knew what everything on the board meant— well, there were a couple of characters he was doubtful about, but they were resolved through context. The characters on the board weren't alphabets; they were ideograms— another thing foreign to him, yet it seemed so familiar. He stepped out of his desk and began climbing down the steps on the pitched floor. Thankfully he was sitting on the corner and didn't have to face the awkwardness of pseudo-asking the person-or many- on the long table's edge to step out so he could move out.

His heartbeat spiked up with every step he took to move closer to the front of the classroom. He kept his gaze focused straight ahead on the blackboard, noticing it was more green than black, in fear that if he made eye contact with anyone, they would realize something was amiss. He also didn't dare look back in fear that all the eyes were on him, looking at him... looking at him with eyes full of suspicion.

The floor pitched up around the front, creating a shallow stage with the podium and the two blackboards making one long one. He arrived at the blackboard as Kibe stepped aside, inviting him to solve the question. Taking a second look at the question on the board, he found one thing he clearly recognized with no accompanying internal conflict. The ideographic language was accompanied by Western-Arabic numerals. It was small, but seeing the digits provided him comfort.

He picked up a white chalk stick from the lipped sill beneath the board and stepped back to study the pink question in its entirety. It was a problem that could be solved by division— it was nothing but simple. Feeling confident for once, he stepped forward and began writing the solution; it was easy enough that with some time, he could solve it mentally, so it was easier to solve in writing. He showed complete work through the long division method as he was in a classroom setting, and 'showing the work' was expected of him... or at least that was the convention taught to him.

"... That is correct," Kibe said as he saw the complete solution, sounding narrowly surprised. "Good work, you may return to your seat."

He gave a quick nod to Kibe and was more than happy to return to his. He turned back and was about to move when he noticed something. It was all automatic, subconsciously out of his control, and before he knew it, his eyes had widened, and he was looking back at Kibe. Kibe wore a green flak jacket with a blue full-sleeved vest with a round neck underneath and similarly colored pants of three-fourth length with a wrapping of bandages covering the rest of the distance to open-toed sandals adorning the feet. But the attire wasn't the thing that attracted his attention; it was the thing of metal attached to Kibe's left sleeve— and on it was an engraving of a leaf— a stylized leaf.

He would've dismissed Kibe's outfit as cosplay; if not for the fact he found himself in a strange place without the memory of getting there, where he could suddenly speak and read an unknown language he previously didn't know and that somehow, without knowing, he knew who exactly Kibe was.

A dreadful thought formed in his mind as he knew what the facts of the situation were pointing towards. He didn't want to look down and check, for he didn't know how he would react if his suspicions were correct.

"Is something wrong, Takuma?" Kibe asked when he continued to stare.

Takuma. Just hearing Kibe address him with that name was like a battering ram against his psyche, trying to force him to accept the situation.

"Can I-I go to the washroom?" he asked, his voice breaking in between.

He thought Kibe's gaze lingered for a moment too long. Was he found out? But then Kibe nonchalantly said, "Go, but return quickly."

He didn't know how he got to the washroom. He just followed his feet, and they walked him through the unknown corridors that seemed familiar to a part of his mind until he stood in front of large mirrors over the sinks. The reflective surface of the mirror showed a sight that he feared.

The reflection showed a young boy with black hair and eyes— and yet again, he felt the awful sensation of his mind split between registering the appearance as familiar and unfamiliar. The boy in the image wasn't him, and yet he knew who it was— Takuma. But who was Takuma? He had no clue.

He turned back, walked to one of the toilet stalls, bent over one before hurling his stomach's content into the bowl, and then did it again the second time, completely emptying whatever was inside his body. He would've sat there beside the toilet in stunned contemplation if not for the smell and the taste of vomit in his mouth. He cleaned up and without thought wandered in the hallways of the buildings, numbly taking in the environment he was in. He came across a large bulletin board with a lot of papers thumbed-tacked upon it. Every paper had messy calligraphy on it as though written by a child.

[ A shinobi must see the hidden meanings within the hidden meanings. ]

[ A shinobi must prepare before it is too late to. ]

[ A shinobi must never show any weakness. ]

[ A shinobi must follow their commander's instructions. ]

He stared at them for a moment before moving on until he somehow made it out of the school building. He found himself staring up into the distance at four faces carved into the side of a large cliff— it was as if the faces were looking over the city and its habitants.

There was no more denying the fact where he was. There were only two places he knew that had faces carved into a mountain, and the faces in front of him were in no form presidents of a certain country— so by the process of elimination, only one place remained.

Konohagakure, the village hidden in the leaves, or simply the Leaf village.

"I'm in Naruto," he said to himself, savoring how wrong the words felt in his mouth. He looked down at the young hands, which already had calluses forming; they were so unlike his own. He recalled the image he had seen in the mirror. "I am Takuma."

He didn't know how or why this was happening to him.

He only knew two things—

He was in Naruto.

His name was... Takuma.

 

[Fiction]

Finding himself in a fictional world without any warning or reason wasn't the toughest part of the day for Takuma. After he had calmed himself down and had accepted the situation on the surface— there was still a part of his mind that wanted to believe that this was nothing but a lucid dream— he made his way back to the classroom, once again bewildered by the fact that he somehow knew how to return even.

He entered the classroom and made a split-second eye contact with Kibe, who didn't address him and continued to teach the class. Feeling lucky, Takuma climbed up the steps to his seat on the last bench. On his way, he roamed his eyes over his classmates who were of similar age to his current body. He recognized none of them.

He swallowed the bitter feeling that rose up and sat down on his seat with his head down. He wasn't unfamiliar with his current circumstances— transmigrated to another world— he had read enough light novels to recognize the situation, but that didn't make his situation any better because of the world he had been transmigrated to. Naruto. The world of constant war and strife fought with element-wielding super soldiers, each one with the potential of becoming a weapon of mass destruction. The cherry on top, there existed monsters, each capable of destroying countries on their own if they felt like it. Not to mention, there was even a god-like existence sealed away, whose release would spell the end of civilization and life on the planet.

'Why Naruto?!' Takuma lamented inside.

He was well acquainted with the Japanese media of anime, manga, and light novels. He would go back to it from time to time when something caught his interest. Yet, Naruto, one of the so-called Big-Three, wasn't one of his interests. The first time he had come across Naruto, he was intimidated by the length of its anime and had chosen not to commit to such a long show and had left it to the side for a rainy day. It was long after he had gotten into manga that he had chosen to indulge in Naruto through the original media, the manga— it might have taken a week or so for him to complete whatever many volumes and chapters there were. It was easier that way, much less time-consuming than watching hundreds of eighteen-minute long episodes. And that was it. He had read the manga once. Nothing more and nothing less.

It was an enjoyable read, but it wasn't his cup of tea. Maybe he would've enjoyed it more if he was younger or had picked it up when he was still new to the Japanese anime/manga scene.

The result? He didn't remember a lot of it.

Takuma grabbed his head and pressed it hard against the wooden desk. Binging was terrible for retention, especially when interest levels weren't at their peak. He was in an extremely dangerous world and he didn't know anything much about it— he couldn't even recall the names of the characters outside the main cast.

'Shit! Shit! Shit!'

He closed his eyes and tried to focus. Try to find out more. But after a few minutes, he couldn't deny the second outrageous problem that had presented itself to him.

He had no memories of 'Takuma.' The boy, whoever he was, had left behind no memories of himself or anything of his past or even basic general knowledge. He looked at Kibe teaching in the front; Kibe was the only one whose name he knew, and that too had popped up in his mind. Was Kibe special in some way? Why did he know Kibe's name, the language, and the way around the academy, yet he couldn't recall anything when he consciously tried to remember?

Takuma sighed. Without information, he was like a man on a wooden plank in the middle of the ocean with heavy rain making his life miserable and possibly short.

'Let's... Let's start with what I know.' Takuma looked around his desk for a bag, but he couldn't even find a notebook or even a pen. Did the boy not bring any stationary to the lesson? What was this, college? He sighed deeply.

Academy students graduated at age twelve. Given that information, Takuma needed to figure out how old he was so that he could find how many years he had left in school— how many years he had left... safe. Takuma patted himself down for any form of identification and found empty pockets. He clicked his tongue. The child had come out with nothing but clothes on his back.

'Next.' He had seen four faces on the mountain, which meant Fourth Hokage had taken office. 'What was his name?' Takuma frowned at his failure to recall the name of such an important figure. He then wondered how long it took to carve the face on the mountain, was it done manually by hand, or did they use chakra to speed up the process? The presence of the Fourth Hokage's face on the mountain meant that the Third Shinobi War was over, which was good for Takuma— no war participation in the near future. But was the Fourth Hokage alive? If he was dead, then for how long? Was he closer to Naruto's birth or to the Third Hokage's death? 'Or somewhere in between...' Takuma sighed— he had no way of knowing... yet.

The clock on the wall showed it was already past lunch (lunch that he had emptied out), but he didn't know how long a typical academy day ran. He couldn't wait to leave the academy and return home.

Home, Takuma sucked in a cold breath. He didn't know where home was. How would he make his way back when he couldn't remember a dime worth of memories. What about parents; will they come looking for him if he stays put somewhere around the academy? Once again, his head began to feel heavy with all the problems surrounding him. It wasn't even an hour since his arrival, and he already felt like he was drowning.

"Okay, class," Kibe clapped his hands to gain the students' attention, "let's move out to the training yard. I'm going to test your shurikenjutsu today; I hope everyone has been practicing; I would be very disappointed if you have not."

Takuma's heart leaped into his throat. He looked around, and everyone was already getting up from their seats. He followed suit and walked as part of the crowd as the students followed Kibe outside to the backside of the academy building. The training ground was devoid of grass except for some weeds popping here and there. Wooden stumps stood on the edges of the space, some thin and others thick; some looked like they had been slashed, others looked like they had been bashed in. Kibe gathered the class in front of five stumps standing adjacent to each other in a line; every stump had four bullseyes drawn on them with white paint— some were painted right in the middle, others were skewed some measure to the side.

"You'll know the drill," Kibe said. "Split into five lines and line up in front of the targets. You throw five. The first row throws at the target and then sprints to the target to retrieve their shurikens and sprint to the back of their line." He gave his students a stern look, "Only after the first row has run back would the second row throw their shuriken, not a second back, break the rule and be ready for hell. Do you all understand?"

The class chorused with a "yes."

"Good," Kibe smiled. "Before we start throwing practice, I want all of you to give me twenty rounds around the ground to get the blood pumping and sweat dripping. I told you last time, today's going to be tough," he grinned. "Now, what are you waiting for! Run! Run! Run!"

The students didn't need to be told twice as everyone took off running around the grounds. Takuma followed after them and placed himself right in the middle of the pack, letting the group decide his pace. He didn't know the body's physical condition; he assumed since the boy was studying in the academy, he should've enough physical endurance to not embarrass himself.

Takuma was all but lying on his back, wheezing his life out. His lungs were on fire as he stood with his hand on his knees, looking down at the ground wet with the sweat that dripped from his nose, chin, and hair. He was wrong. Sure, the boy's body had been conditioned enough to complete twenty rounds, but not enough to hold a middle-of-the-pack pace. He looked at others who were running behind and slower than him, and even they didn't look anywhere near as taxed him.

"Form the lines, quickly!" Kibe barked an order.

Takuma, still heaving, positioned himself at the back of the line. There were five wooden crates of shuriken, one for each line. The glint of the sharp metal made the panic from earlier come back, and without the running distracting him, it rose up like a tsunami over the shore. He didn't know how to throw a shuriken, he could barely throw a baseball properly. Throwing carriers of sharp death was out of the league for him, not even in the same stratosphere.

"Next!"

Takumi's eyes bulged when Kibe's voice snapped him out of his spiraling trance. He looked and found himself next in line. He watched as the girl in front of him picked up her shuriken and threw them two at a time and one solo towards the stump. They weren't dead center, but they weren't far from them.

"Very good," Kibe said with a smile, praise not hidden in his voice. He looked at Takuma, and the smile vanished. "Next," he said.

Takuma bent over the crate and carefully took out the shuriken to not cut his fingers on the edge and make a mockery out of himself. But he didn't need to worry about that as he made sure it happened a few moments after. Takuma stared at the stump several feet away from him, and he swore it didn't look that far when he was looking from behind. As he was looking, the others in the row all began throwing. Takuma panicked when he saw the others thrown and haphazardly picked a shuriken in his throwing arm and awkwardly threw it... and didn't even make it to the stump.

The snickers and laughs from behind made Takuma flush like a boiled lobster. He was the only one who had failed to cover the distance, even those who had missed the target had at least thrown it far enough. He glanced at Kibe, who didn't look shocked at his performance. No, the teacher looked like Takuma's abysmal performance wasn't anything special.

"What are you looking at? Continue throwing," Kibe frowned with his arm crossed when he saw Takuma looking at him. Kibe offered no advice or input.

Takuma straightened up immediately, and after four more throws that each failed to reach the stumps, he wanted nothing more than to be like an ostrich and bury his head in the ground to escape the mocking laughter from his classmates and the look of harsh disapproval from Kibe. It was even more embarrassing when only he had to cross halfway to recover his shuriken and come back quickly when everyone ran all the way to the stump to retrieve theirs.

The same humiliation was repeated multiple times over, and between the physical exhaustion and the red-hot shame, Takuma felt tears trickle down from his eyes. For the rest of that day, even after they returned to the classroom after another long set of laps around the training ground to finish the shurikenjutsu training, Takuma didn't raise his head. He kept it down until the end of school, until he was left in the classroom... alone.

Even with no one remaining to judge him, he couldn't raise his head.

 

[Fiction]

The sun was setting by the time Takuma trudged out of the academy. His eyes were red and puffy as he looked at the street outside academy grounds. A caretaker had found him in the classroom alone and had asked him to leave as it was time for the room to be cleaned and locked for the day.

Takuma walked around the block to see if he could find a park where he could sit and wait for the boy's parents to arrive. Fortunately, there was a park beside the academy. Takuma picked a bench directly visible from the park's entrance and sat down. He watched children play in the sandbox, on the swings, playing chase with each other, carefree from the realities of life. As the sun pulled further down, some children left the park on their own while others were picked up by their parents.

Takuma waited and waited, and soon, the red in the sky was replaced with blue until the moon climbed up high, and as he saw the stars glittered against the black backdrop, Takuma knew no one was coming to pick him up. It was a half-deduction, half-gut feeling. He stared at the sky and gazed at the stars; he hadn't seen stars so clearly in a very long time. The cities he lived in always had pollution obstructing the star's light.

It seemed he would need to find his own way back home... or he would've to spend the night on the bench. 'I can find another bench somewhere; why not give it a shot.'

As he stepped outside of the park, Takuma frowned at the street. He looked left, and a street light illuminated the path; he looked to the right, there was no light on that side, but he felt a strong feeling from the direction. Like something was calling him. He looked between the two paths, light and dark, before pursing his lips and walking right into the darkness.

He kept to the side of the road and walked like a jumpy rabbit, ready to jump on any indication of any nearby presence. Soon, he arrived at a fork in the road, and once again, he felt a sensation towards one side. He took it. And after following the path indicated by the gut feeling for fifteen minutes, he arrived at an old apartment building standing five stories tall with watermarks dripping down the sides from exposed pipes that had algae growing on the walls. Ignoring the logical part of his brain, Takuma entered the property and found himself standing in front of a door on the third floor.

This was his house; he could feel it. The boy had left something behind, not exact memories, but there was clearly something that had guided him here. It wasn't him, so it could only be the boy.

'I don't have a key,' Takuma squatted and pulled up the floor mat to check underneath but got dirt instead. There was a bulb with a cover atop near the door. Takuma jumped up and tried to reach around to find a key, but again he came down empty-handed. He sighed n-th time in the day and closed his eyes, trying to keep the frustration down and away from showing.

He was exhausted, and his stomach had started protesting from the lack of food. Takuma leaned against the door with his forehead, feeling the cracks in the paint due to the shoddy paint job. He grabbed the doorknob and was about to turn it violently to release his frustration when the first turn made the door open up. Takuma watched with a dropped jaw as the door swung open slowly with the loudest creak he had heard from the door.

The stupid kid hadn't locked his door. Takuma entered the door and entered the dark apartment, only to be hit by a wave of a heavy and hot smell that bogged down the entire apartment. Takuma groaned. He knew the smell; it was the same as a boy's dorm room when they kept the room closed with no ventilation.

After spending minutes fumbling around for a light switch, Takuma turned on the lights to find himself horrified at the state of the apartment. It was a small studio apartment that opened up to the lounge-slash-dining room. Upon entering, he saw an old dirty two-seater couch with laundry piled upon it. On the side was a round dining table with two chairs that had eaten ramen cups and packaged lunch boxes lying on the tabletop as if the concept of a trash bin didn't exist in the house. Even though he was wearing shoes, Takuma could tell by eye how dirty the floor was and didn't want to think when was the last time it was cleaned. Behind the dining table was the kitchen, and he was expecting a pile of dirty dishes in the sink, but all he found were some dirty glasses and mugs, and then it dawned on him— the kid didn't cook. The mess on the table was how he ate.

Takuma sighed. Beyond the living-slash-dining space was the bedroom. It only had two things— a closet and a single bed. The closet was open and half empty, not surprising seeing that half of the clothes were on the couch outside. The bed was worse; there was no sheet on it, and half of the space was covered with miscellaneous junk that Takuma couldn't be bothered with.

He pushed the mess aside as much as he could and fitted himself into the narrow space. He was worn and weary and was in no mood to clean the house. Future-Takuma could handle that punishment. Right now, all he wanted to do was sleep, and hopefully, when he woke up, he would be back in his home world... and not here.

Alas, fate was a cruel mistress.

Takuma looked at himself in the bathroom mirror that one week ago used to be so dirty that it took a complete hour just to get it cleaned enough to see a decent reflection; getting it spotless was a mess of another magnitude. He lightly touched the small bruise on his shoulder from the taijutsu spar in the academy earlier in the day. Just like shurikenjutsu, Takuma was abysmal at best in hand-to-hand combat and kissed the floor in every sparring match he had been a part of.

Takuma now knew he was ten years old from his date of birth on his academy id-card that he found in the corner of the closet and the date of the latest newspaper he saw on a newsstand. Even though he was sparring against similar ten years old— they were ten years old who had been learning how to combat since they were six years old, some even before and he was a bum who had never picked up a fight in his life and only knew to haphazardly throw out punches. He was terribly outclassed by literally everyone among his peers.

It didn't help that the majority of the people had a weight advantage over him. Takuma was above average in height for his age, but the boy must not have liked eating, for he was so skinny that even a shirt on a hanger would feel good about itself. Takuma had ribs showing, slightly sunken cheeks, and limbs with no meat on them.

Takuma narrowed his eyes on himself in the mirror. His hand moved up the new bruise, tracing the almost invisible scarring on his clavicle. The cut that caused the scar was either not deep, or the wound had been healed exceptionally well and had only left behind a white line on his medium fair skin. A scar wouldn't have been out of place, given that he was enrolled in a shinobi academy, but when a ten-year-old's body was riddled with faint scars that could've been made through cuts, Takuma couldn't help but wonder where they came from.

As he was tracing his fingers on the scars, a horrid pain erupted in the back of Takuma's head as if someone was slicing his brain with a hot knife. He choked on the air in his windpipe as an image flashed through his mind of a blinding light with shadows looming over him.

The pain eventually left, leaving behind a throbbing sensation in his head, and Takuma was left in a coughing and wheezing fit as he used his hand on the mirror to prevent himself from ending up on the floor. It took a minute for Takuma to come to his senses, and the first thing he saw was his reflection in the mirror— for some reason, the scars seemed deeper and more visible.

'What the hell was that?!' Takuma wondered with his hand over his chest, feeling his racing heart. He had no idea and could only associate it with the boy's poor health.

In the past week, Takuma learned a lot about his situation. Firstly, he was now a ten years old orphan living alone in a state-allotted home on an allowance also provided by the state. It seemed in the Leaf village, orphans who enrolled in the shinobi academy left the shelter of orphanages at the age of ten and were made to live on their own. They were still available for adoption, but when the children were not living in an orphanage, the chances of getting adopted were close to zero. From the documents he had found lying about the apartment, the boy had been living alone for about four months.

'And that's all it took for him to trash the place.' Takuma was still resentful because it took him five days to clean the place from top to bottom. But Takuma couldn't blame the boy— it was tough to muster enough energy and will to clean up after being beaten up and humiliated in the academy.

Takuma had visited the orphanage once to see if he could find more about the boy. It was interesting since he didn't know the way to the orphanage, what it was called, or what it looked like. But somehow, he was able to get it anyway, and that without asking for directions. Takuma had realized in the last week that even though he hadn't inherited the boy's memories, he had inherited something to a gut feeling, a special sense that communicated the boy's experience to him. Directions to frequently visited locations? His body would tell him where to turn. Names of people the boy knew? A whisper-like thought would inform him of their names. He didn't know when the special sense would come to him or how to invoke it, but he was grateful for it because he would've been dead without it.

At the orphanage, the matron was surprised to see him. It seemed the boy hadn't visited since he had been made to leave. Takuma had spent some time talking to the matron before leaving. He wasn't able to find much about the boy. He couldn't broach the topic of the boy's parentage. But he did come to know that the orphanage was relatively new and was made after Kyuubi's attack on the village, which had left many children without families, and thus the majority of children in the orphanage were victims of the aforementioned attack. Takuma assumed the boy was just another one of those unfortunate children.

Kyuubi's attack... A piece of information that had cleared a lot of questions for Takuma. He knew exactly what time he was in... or he knew exactly how far he was from the main story.

'Seven years,' Takuma thought bitterly. Seven years from now, the main cast would turn twelve and graduate from the academy, and that would mark the start of a particularly dangerous time in an already dangerous world. Currently, he was ten years old, and the main cast was five years old— a five-year difference, not that it meant anything. 'They must've entered the academy this year.' There wasn't much interaction between different years, so he hadn't seen the main cast. Takuma was tempted to go have a look, but he couldn't find the time and energy.

Takuma groaned as he made his way out of the bathroom to his bedroom. He pulled a tracksuit out of his closet and pulled it on. It was time to go running. He had seven years left, and only two more years in the academy, and he was already running late. If he wanted to increase his chances of living, he had to make use of every second of his time.

Because when he turned twelve, he was going to be put on active duty, and it was only time before he would be in situations where his life was in danger.

​

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[Fiction]

For Takuma, the academy had turned into a place of learning, and the classroom was where he learned the most. He looked up at Kibe teaching the class, but Takuma had no idea what was being taught. He had gotten used to tuning out the class. Takuma was years behind the curriculum, and listening to the teaching did no good to him. There were subjects like mathematics, fundamental physics and chemistry, and finance which he knew better than his classmates— but subjects like history, politics, strategy, and war tactics, he had to learn from scratch. He wasn't even mentioning subjects like basic chakra theory, introduction to ninjutsu, introduction to genjutsu, and their subsequent advanced modules taught through the years.

To catch up, he needed to learn faster than his classmates. And that meant learning at his own pace— at an accelerated pace. Sitting in the corner of the home was every book, scroll and resource material the academy had provided the boy (and that he had kept, who knew what he had discarded). Takuma had dug the pile and started at the bottom. Even though the academy was trying to create competent soldiers by age twelve, the material for six and seven years old was still a breeze for Takuma. He aimed to cover the first two years of material in a month or forty-five days before moving on to year three, where chakra was introduced.

As for physical, that was a different ordeal altogether. The academy truly trained its students to be soldiers. Takuma had found that the first year had a lot of physical activity disguised as fun games and exercise. The goal was to lay the foundation for teaching the children to appreciate training for training's sake. In the second year, the physical aspect was phased out a little for classroom time, and with each year, a little more physical time was phased out in favor of theory and practical skill classes. But each year, the students were encouraged to continue physical conditioning and skill training on their own time. The system apparently worked as each year had a certain physical standard that students were expected to meet— and in the last test, most of the class had passed the test. Takuma had, unfortunately, failed the test miserably.

Alas, physical conditioning, taijutsu, and weapon skills weren't the same as theoretical skills. Physical conditioning could be built consistently throughout the year through an arduous process of following the plan given in the academy manuals— but taijutsu and weapon skills like shurikenjutsu and kunai handling had to be mastered through repetition. Takuma wasn't sure he would be able to match the average of his peers in the two-year time he had till graduation.

"That'd be all for today," Kibe said as he rubbed down the blackboard with a duster. "Now, this is your last year in the academy..."

Takuma, who was hunched over his book, suddenly looked up at Kibe with eyes threatening to pop out. Last year of the academy? What was Kibe talking about? Academy cadets graduated at twelve; that was common knowledge.

'Common knowledge,' blood drained from Takuma's face as the thought struck him. Common knowledge... Where did common knowledge come from? Naruto and Co. had graduated at twelve; that must mean the rest must also graduate at the same age...

Takuma's eyes fell down to the history book he was reading. The page was about the third shinobi war a few years back. Takuma closed his eyes. He realized why the academy was graduating students at age eleven. During times of war, the academy would streamline its curriculum and cut it down to as short as a year, getting rid of all fluff like etiquette and proper handling of clients and focusing on creating shinobi ready for war.

But Leaf village wasn't at war. No, they weren't, Takuma sighed. But they had suffered something as terrible as war— they had suffered through the Kyuubi attack.

'The third shinobi war made a deep dent in the shinobi reserve, and before the village could recover, the Kyuubi made the dent even deeper,' Takuma grabbed his head as the thought completed in his head. It was only natural that the village was trying to recover its numbers by pushing more people out of the academy faster.

Takuma felt something bubble in the pit of his stomach— he felt sick and both hot and cold at the same time. He didn't have two years as he had thought. Now apparently, he had one. Just the thought of his time cut in half was almost enough to send him hyperventilating.

"...The graduation test is done thrice in the last six months of the program," Kibe continued. "Passing any one of the three tests will see you passing graduation. But I want all of you to do your best in every test, even if you do pass the first time, because your best grade will be considered in the end, and scoring high is important without me needing to tell... because this is a test. The most important test of your life till now."

Takuma gulped. Three tests meant he had three chances to clear the academy. Wait a minute, Takuma frowned. He looked up at Kibe and raised his hand.

"Yes?" Kibe asked when he saw Takuma.

"What happens if we fail all three tests?" Takuma asked.

One of the students laughed, "We?" Some chuckled along, and some seemed genuinely interested in the question.

"What happens if I fail all three tests?" Takuma asked, reiterating his questions. He couldn't blame his classmates for laughing; he was the worst in the class and would seem more at home with a six-year-old who had just joined the academy— and Takuma couldn't agree more. The thing he wished for the most was returning to his world, but after that, it was to be transmigrated when the boy had just entered the academy.

Kibe narrowed his eyes at Takuma before turning to the class. Takuma learned in his time at the academy that Kibe had no love to spare for him.

"If you fail to pass even a single one of three, you will be held back at the academy, where a committee will decide what to do with you," Kibe announced. "You might have to repeat the year" — Takuma sighed in relief — "or you might be forced to leave the academy outright."

Takuma paled when he heard that, and gasps sounded in the classroom. Takuma had thought that if he failed the graduation tests, he would get one more year, bringing his plan back on track. He had no qualms about repeating a year— yes, it would be humiliating and always be on his record, but that was something he was willing to go through when his safety was concerned. But now, a committee was involved.

Several thoughts went through his head. What would happen if the committee made him leave the academy? Takuma didn't believe he would be allowed to be free after that. The administration wouldn't let someone with shinobi training, even if they weren't incompetent, just go out of their system so easily— what if they were pretending to be incompetent and were simply using the academy as a way to learn or gain how the Leaf village trained their shinobis. Takuma didn't want to go down that future, for he didn't know what lay there.

The class soon ended, and as everyone was getting out of the classroom, Kibe asked Takuma to stay behind.

"You have not been performing well recently," Kibe said with his hands crossed as he looked down at Takuma. "And I'm not talking about your usual bad performance; you have been worse beyond your usual terrible self."

Takuma kept his head down. Again, there wasn't a thing he could say to refute it. If the boy was a lousy student, then Takuma was straight-up illiterate.

"You're not going to pass like this. You haven't won a single spar, hit a single target, or been able to perform a bunshin- not even a fault one- and the only class you answer is maths... If you continue on like this, they won't even let you repeat the year."

Kibe's words realized Takuma's worst fear. Being kicked out of the academy. He would rather be a chakra-wielding shinobi and go into a dangerous situation on his own accord rather than be a civilian and not know if tomorrow was going to be the last day of his life.

"What should I do to get better?" asked Takuma, his head still bowed.

"Study and practice."

Takuma wanted to scream that he had been doing so day in and night out but knew that throwing out his anger wouldn't do anything. Kibe was a strict teacher who took no disobedience against the rules he set. He had regularly kicked students out of classes at the slightest peep out of place, made them run laps or other punishment exercises when they disturbed his class. Takuma barely ever spoke in the classrooms, so he never got into trouble. For when he couldn't perform in the field? The most Kibe could do was to force Takuma to practice at the thing he had failed as there was no parent to complain to.

"Yes, sir," Takuma said. From Kibe's answer of 'study and practice' he knew asking Kibe for guidance wouldn't help him as the militant teacher wasn't going to hold his hand and spoon feed him basics this late in the academy.

As Takuma walked home alone, he finally had a quiet moment on the empty streets. Kibe's classroom was silent, but there was something about the classroom ambiance that made Takuma concentrate better even though he wasn't listening to the lecture, and he used all of that time to catch up on the theoretical knowledge from books and scrolls provided by the academy. He had to wrap his books in old newspapers so no one could tell what he was reading by the cover. It would be embarrassing if his classmates found that he was reading first and second-year material while being in the fifth year— and while he could bear the humiliation, children were particularly mean, so he would rather not attract attention to him.

But things like weapons handling and taijutsu weren't something he could learn on his own. There was no one who would tell him how to properly hold the kunai or correct him when his taijutsu katas weren't correct.

Takuma looked around as he entered the district he lived in. It was a civilian district with negligible shinobi presence. However, it wasn't a good civilian district with clean and flat roads, regularly maintained streetlights, and properly painted walls and buildings, which made an area look and feel like a desirable place to live. No, Takuma's home was in a place with roads filled with potholes, where every other streetlight was shot and those that worked flickered every few seconds, and every building looked like it had been maintained for a decade. It was a place where the bottom dwellers of the society lived— people who worked in unorganized industries with low pay, unemployed workers going through tough times, people who screwed up their finances— anyone who didn't have enough money lived in the district... and that included orphans like Takuma.

The state only had so much money they could spend on orphans like Takuma, especially when there were so many of them after the war and Kyuubi's attack. Every orphan was a drain on the budget, especially orphans like Takuma, who lived independently and required separate housing. Housing in the cheapest district was what the state deemed Takuma worth.

He smiled bitterly. Just like his housing situation, his financial situation looked dire and decrepit. He was provided an allowance every month, but it was only barely enough to cover his meals, which Takuma prioritized over everything else. He wanted to put some muscle and fat on his bones, and it took nutritious meals to accomplish that. He couldn't even eat out as it wrecked his budget, and he had to cook every meal in-house, which was a problem as he didn't know how to cook. He had gone to the academy and public libraries to get recipe books and created the cheapest three-meal menu he repeated daily. Every night, he would cook three meals in meal-prep form, put two in the fridge and eat the third. Take the breakfast out after the morning workout and take lunch with him to the academy.

The rest of his money went towards thrifting and scavenging used tools that he could use after school hours in practice. Tools weren't cheap, and because he wasn't a shinobi, he couldn't use military garrisons where shinobi got supplies at discounted rates. He had to go to blacksmiths who supplied the garrisons and choose from the 'to-be-recycled' piles that shinobi returned for reforging. None of his shuriken and kunai had an edge that wasn't chipped; most of them had cracks of varying degrees.

It hadn't been even a month since Takuma had been in this world, but he was sure he would have no money by the end of the month, and for the foreseeable future, he would be living from allowance cheque to allowance cheque.

Takuma sighed as he showed his hands into his pants pockets. He frowned as he felt a hole big enough for two fingers in his right pocket. He looked up at the sky and wondered if the boy had a sewing kit stashed somewhere in the house and then chuckled— of course, he wouldn't, and it wouldn't help... he didn't know how to stitch.

'Ah... this sucks.'

Absolutely everything… sucked.




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Note: All the chapters will eventually be posted on public forums.

 

[Fiction]

The Academy's Training Field No. 2 was Takuma's least favorite place in the world. Even the lush and soft mat of cleanly cut grass that covered the entire field that had given him the best nap of his life and the best sleep he had ever since arriving in the miserable world of shinobis didn't give the place a higher rating in his mind's internal review system.

"Hideaki," Kibe called from his place in the middle of the wide circle formed by his students sitting beside each other in a single line of the perimeter. A tall and wide eleven-year-old got up from his and lumbered his way to the middle of the field like a fat bull. Kibe looked around in the circle before calling, "Takuma."

Takuma, sitting with crossed legs, had an old and frizzy jute rope in his hands. He was working on practicing the sheet bend knot when he heard Kibe call his name out and flinched. He looked up from his lap and found that he hadn't misheard and Kibe was indeed looking at him. And the sight of Hideaki picking his ear made Takuma pull a face.

"Get up, quick," Kibe said, his voice sharp and snippy.

Takuma reluctantly made his way to the center of the circle as he pocketed the length of the rope he had stolen from the side of a shop that was using them to hang potted plants off the ground. Coming to Training Field No. 2 meant that the class was going to practice taijutsu, and sitting in a circle told they were going to spar— and Takuma hated nothing more in the world than taijutsu sparring. Running butt-naked through a street was better than sparring in front of an audience he saw daily.

"Let's start," Kibe said and stepped back near the perimeter.

Takuma saw Hideaki raise his right hand and form the Seal of Confrontation and quickly copied him to do the same. Every taijutsu spar in the academy started with both parties with the Seal of Confrontation; he didn't know its significance, but it just did, and Takuma followed it.

Kibe looked at them for a pause-second before he signaled: "Start!"

Hideaki lazily raised his arms and crossed them over his chest, forming an X. Then straight up charged towards Takuma like a raging bull.

Takuma bit the inside of his cheek as he raised his hands up in guard. There was no academy taijutsu kata that involved crossing arms and charging at the enemy, not even close. And even though Takuma was in no way an expert at Akimichi clan's taijutsu, he was sure there was nothing like this there as well. Hideaki was making fun of him.

It was no secret that Takuma was the weakest in the class at taijutsu (well, at everything), and even those who were weak at taijutsu could wipe the floor with Takuma. Hideaki Akimichi of the clan that prided themselves on their strong bodies could send Takuma to the next year if he wanted to.

Takuma clenched his fists and shrunk his body as he saw Hideaki close in on him. He was supremely tempted to pull a kunai and ram it into Hidekai's face but knew that taking out a weapon would be an open invitation for his opponent to pull out his own weapons— the last thing that Takuma wanted. He had no confidence in blocking or parrying a blade and was no fan of getting himself cut. That was not considering that if he pulled out a kunai, he could get a hit in in the first place. So, he waited until Hideaki was close enough before jumping out of the way. Alas, Hideaki uncrossed his arms and spread them wide, and in doing so, hit Takuma's shoulder with the side of his fist.

It hurt, Takuma winced. He staggered a few steps back before getting his balance back in control. At the same time, Takuma and Hideaki faced each other. Hideaki once again charged at Takuma without his hands crossed. Takuma held his arms up in a boxing guard. Hideaki, despite his size, was faster than Takuma and was inside the latter's personal space in a jiffy. Hideaki made a fist and punched Takuma's guard. Takuma clenched his arms, but Hideaki's punch split his guard and dug into just below the chest.

Takuma didn't feel the pain until his back hit the ground. He coughed; the punch had knocked the air out of him. Takuma was barely read when he saw the sole of Hideaki's sandal coming down at him and narrowly missed him as he rolled out of the way.

Hideaki humphed as he firmly dug the foot that had missed the stomp and used it to pivot his chunky body and kick Takuma's back with his other leg. "Gah!" Takuma was sent rolling on the ground with a force that he dragged chunks of grass with him.

"Alright, that's it, stop!" Kibe ordered, and Hideaki stepped back, returning to the middle of the encirclement. Takuma stood up with pain both in his front and back and wondered if any of the pain was worth it.

He walked to the center and faced Hideaki. Even though Hideaki hit hard, he was one of the easiest to fight. The Akimichi member was lazy and always wanted to end the fight as soon as possible and would move into disabling the opponent at the quickest, even if his methods to do so were crude. There were others— total pissants— who would drag out the soar; those were the hardest and would sting the most in the aftermath.

"End it," Kibe said.

Takuma and Hideaki put their hands forward and joined their Seals of Confrontation to form a Seal of Reconciliation that marked the end of every spar in the academy. Takuma had seen it done many times; some did with grace, some looked like they despised each other, and even the thought of touching each other when it wasn't fighting revolted them. But he didn't know what it meant and doubted Hideaki knew either— if he had been told about it before was another matter all along.

Kibe called another pair as Takuma returned to his spot and continued with his knots on his frayed ropes.

There was no rest for the wicked... and even less for the weak.

-.-.-​

Takuma stood in front of a thick wooden log on the side of a field. The log had several spots that looked like they had been kicked in, so much so that the dark bark had been stripped away, revealing a curve in the light insides. How much did one have to kick and punch to cave in a tree trunk, and how did their limbs not break before? He couldn't imagine.

The sun shone orange over the many training fields littered across the village. Being THE shinobi village of the Hi No Kuni, the Land of Fire, the village had many training fields of various sizes. However, with the number of shinobi active in the village at any time, those fields were in use or reserved by others, and an academy student like Takuma couldn't get in. So, he had to use small make-shift clearings with logs made into unofficial training fields by other people with similar problems. The same people who had kicked in the log.

Takuma traced his finger at the writing made with a kunai over one of the curves in the log. Every curve had a name carved around it, marking the ones who had made it. A common thing perhaps, Takuma didn't know. He had no desire to do the same— who knew if he would be using the same log the next day.

The academy had reserved fields for student use, but Takuma rarely used them. He suffered enough embarrassment during school hours and didn't want any more afterward. So, he used these unofficial fields and would switch around if anyone else was around. He preferred to do his taijutsu kata alone, away from judging eyes.

He began using the log as the heavy bag. It stung every time he hit the tough wood. Apparently, the concept of hitting pads didn't exist in this world, and no protective gear was used during spars. Every punch and kick hurt against the wood.

"You're not going to improve like that, child," a voice sounded out in the silence.

Takuma was in the middle of a kicking kata when he heard the voice. He kicked the log and then lost his balance to the ground. Hurriedly, he turned toward the voice. A gangly old man stood with a slight hunch in his back and dark wrinkled skin from too much time in the sun. Takuma didn't say anything and stared at the old man with a vigilant look in his eyes.

"You're pulling your moves; that's no way to improve," the old man said, pointing his bony finger towards the wood log.

Takuma narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Isn't introducing yourself first before asking for someone else's name a common courtesy?" smiled the old ma.

"You talked to me first, so you say your name first," Takuma said. He observed the old man, and one glance at his thin chainmail shirt, the brown vest, and the tapped ankles over shinobi sandals told Takuma that the old man in front of him was a shinobi. 'He's old,' thought Takuma. He hadn't seen such an old man since his arrival half a month ago.

"This humble one goes by the name Kosuke Maruboshi," said Murboshi and then looked at Takuma expectantly.

"Takuma..."

Muboshi smiled, accentuating the lines collected through the years on his face. "It's commonplace to go light in training and sparring, but the way you're pulling your moves is inviting a bad habit to creep into your form. You won't be able to tell, but your opponent will see openings to exploit, which they will do mercilessly. You need to be firm and confident when performing your katas."

Takuma frowned, "It hurts if I completely commit to the moves." He was constantly scared that the wood would splinter and stab into his limbs.

"Hurting is necessary if you want to temper your bones and muscles." Muboshi assumed the same kata that Takuma had been practicing before, but unlike Takuma, he looked stable, as if he could maintain the form for hours as easy as standing. "You expect the pain, your fear builds it up in your mind, but when it arrives, you find that it was nowhere near as bad as you thought. Moreover, using the correct form hurts less." He cycled through the katas with a smoothness and a ferocity so unlike a weak old man. "Now, you try it."

Takuma's brows furrowed together. He pursed his lips before asking, "I want to see it again, do it again."

Muboshi complied with a smile and performed a short cycle of basic taijutsu kata. Takuma watched intently. He had seen his classmates, those best in taijutsu in class, and even his layman's eyes could tell they were nowhere as good as Muboshi.

'Well, he's old, obviously a shinobi, and they're academy students; of course, there's going to be a skill difference,' Takuma rolled his eyes at the comparison in his head.

He took a stance and did his best to copy Muboshi. Takuma's imitation was leagues apart; it didn't even look the same. But Takuma felt the difference from before, it was minute, but he could tell from the way his boy moved that the movement flowed better, and he felt that if he hit someone now, it would do more damage.

"Good job," Muboshi said before giving further tips. They spent the next half hour together before Muboshi said. "Remember well, young Takuma. Repetition doesn't make one better. It's using repetition to hone one's technique like sharpening a blade against a whetstone."

Takuma nodded and said his thanks to Muboshi, who waved it off and went his merry way, leaving Takuma alone in the field. Takuma watched Muboshi's back until he disappeared from the field. He was grateful for any little help he could get. He turned towards the wood log and sighed.

Hitting it still hurt.




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[Fiction]

"Lower your hip more when you're preparing to launch forward. It will help you project ahead with more speed, and the closeness to the earth improves stability, allowing you to control your direction, and it takes a lot of weight off your ankles in case you need to stop."

Takuma furrowed his brows but lowered his hips anyway and repeated the kata he was practicing. He launched forward and found him getting to point B quicker than before, and his foot skidded less when he made a stop. He eased his stance as he turned to Maruboshi and gave him an appreciative nod.

After the day Takuma had met Maruboshi, the aged shinobi had always found him during the evenings while he practiced his taijutsu. He would come and advise Takuma as he cycled through the academy kata. Takuma was grateful for it. There was only so much taijutsu one could learn from still images on a scroll, and Maruboshi's adjustment instructions helped tremendously improve his lousy skills. They were still pathetic even when compared to his classmates, but he thought that he saw some improvements when he was able to sidestep an attack— even though the next moment, he had been kicked in the gut hard enough to end up on the ground with a senbon each, inches away from his eyes.

"How young are you, young Takuma?" Maruboshi asked.

"Ten," said Takuma as he attacked the wooden log. Even though he had come to terms with the fact that he was now a ten-year-old boy, it still felt strange to voice out the reality. What was he doing when he was truly ten years old? Whining to parents about wanting more toys, spending time outside with friends doing absolutely silly things, or whatever your run-of-the-mill ten-year-old did on a daily basis.

'Now though...' Takuma sighed. He was learning how to turn his body and mind into a weapon— and doing so very badly. He guessed at least that was typical of an average ten-year-old.

"That would put you in the last year of the academy... Your taijutsu skills are poor— very poor— for someone in their last year," Maruboshi's voice suddenly snapped Takuma out of his wandering thoughts.

Takuma froze up. He turned to Maruboshi, who had been sitting on a nearby rock with a kunai and a wood block that he had been carving. He stared at the old man for a moment before asking, "What are you trying to say?" Takuma was surprised at how guarded he sounded.

"The academy's curriculum is formed in such a way that the last year doesn't involve much new learning. The last year is dedicated to strengthening the learnings from past years and ensuring that the student can utilize the learned skills smoothly on missions. The teachers schedule lots of spars, survival outings, and classroom simulations to prepare the children for what they might face when they become genins."

"I don't understand..."

"Young Takuma, before you told me, I thought you were a tall child in the second year of the academy."

Which meant he was as bad as a seven-year-old. He should've known that a shinobi who survived to such an old age must be very skilled. 'I should've lied about my age,' Takuma thought, but he had no such foresight beforehand. He looked down at his body. Fixing his diet was definitely the right step; he already saw an improvement in his complexion and felt more energetic in the morning. But it was too early for it to take total effect— he still looked like a thin twig— most girls in his class had more meat on them than he had.

"Is taijutsu a weak subject for you?" Maruboshi asked.

Takuma nodded. But then he bowed his head and muttered, "I'm bad at everything..."

"I'm sorry, I missed that." Maruboshi chuckled, "My ears must have gotten weak; would you mind repeating for this old man?"

"I'm bad at everything!" Takuma said and then glared at Maruboshi, daring him to try and make fun of him for it. It wasn't his fault that he was awful at shinobi skills. 'I'm not even terrible; I just started out!' he thought furiously.

"Everything?"

"Everything," and that somehow broke the dam as Takuma's frustrations poured out. "I can't beat anyone in sparring, I can't hit the targets, I can't perform jutsus— I can't even mold chakra" — he had tried to follow his learning plan and go by the years, but the temptation of harnessing chakra had beat him, and he ended up reading up on it, but just like everything else, he was awful at him, he couldn't sense chakra in his body— "I can't tie the knots fast enough, or start a fire, or hunt, or build a shelter in the wild. I don't understand ambush strategies or tailing tactics. Everything's confusing, and there's no one I can ask for help. I have less than one year before graduation. I will fail like this. I don't want to fail. I do not want to fail."

Takuma breathed out deeply to calm himself because he would've broken down into a hyperventilating mess if he didn't. It had happened before; it wasn't something he wanted to experience again.

"Calm down, little one," said Maruboshi in a soothing voice. He sat Takuma down and handed him a canteen of water.

"I'm sorry; that was unsightly of me," said Takuma after he had settled down. He couldn't look at Maruboshi as he apologized in fear he would see mocking in his eyes as he had seen in everyone else's. "I shouldn't have reacted that way."

"It's okay. There's nothing for you to be ashamed of. It happens to the best of us," Maruboshi said with a soothing smile.

"Even you?"

Maruboshi's eyes glazed over for a moment and a faraway look appeared on his face before a brief bitterness flashed in his eyes. It was gone in an instant as Maruboshi focused back on Takuma. He nodded, "Even me. I have found myself lost one too many times. And I believe I have found my way back every time."

"What should I do? I will truly fail if I continue on like this."

Maruboshi didn't reply immediately. Instead, he took away the canteen from Takuma and put it back. He kneeled on both his knees and sat down facing Takuma. "Do you truly want to pass and graduate from the academy?" he asked seriously.

Takuma was confused, but he nodded. "I have to pass at graduation. I'm an orphan, but because I'm in the academy, I live alone in an apartment. They give me an allowance, but the moment I'm out of the academy— pass or fail— that will end. If I don't have a good job, I won't be able to pay rent... And I can't go back to the orphanage; I'll be an adult at eleven, regardless of whether I become a shinobi or not."

It was the harsh reality of the situation. The moment the boy(OG Takuma) stepped out of the orphanage and into the apartment, he had no way of returning. An eleven-year-old with no trade skill training wasn't going to get a job with an income high enough to afford rent, even in the cheapest area of the Leaf village. His tradecraft was supposed to be a mercenary for hire, for which he had been trained for five years... but now, that seemed like an impossible dream.

"If... If I offer to train you, will you train seriously?" Maruboshi suddenly asked.

Takuma's confusion turned into a startled shock. He looked into Maruboshi's eyes, trying to figure out where the offer had come from. He then snapped out and realized he had been silent for a moment now.

"Yes!" he shouted. "I mean! I will train seriously!"

Maruboshi frowned deeply. The kind man looked unkind for the first time since Takuma had seen him. "You had five years to learn. You didn't learn then; why should I believe you will change now?"

Takuma wanted to scream that it wasn't him who didn't learn. He had seen how Kibe and his classmates treated him. The boy had no friends. The only figure of authority in his life had deemed him worthless. Yet there was no animosity against him. His classmates didn't hate him; they simply ignored him. It couldn't be more clear that the boy was a bad student, someone on the lower string of the social ladder, someone who was forgotten and unseen because he had nothing special or of interest. His reputation wasn't Takuma's fault. He had been trying his best since he had come here.

But he couldn't say any of it, so he clenched his fist as an outlet.

"I can't give you money, for I don't have any," said Takuma.

"I don't—"

"But, I will give you my life... I can give you my mind, body, and obedience. If you can teach me to be a shinobi, I will do everything and anything you say. Your words will be commands, and I will be yours to order. You say jump; I will ask how high." Takuma matched his eyes with Maruboshi and said, "You asked why you should believe me... I'm desperate and in a corner; there's nothing I won't do to get out of it. I can see my life about to be destroyed" — it already had — "and I will do anything to get it back on track."

His life had already been taken away from him. He had no choice but to build himself a second one. And he would rather be a safe one than one of endless misery.

"I don't have a devil to make a deal with," Takuma looked up at Maruboshi. "So, I will make this one with you... Teach me and I will owe one with no questions asked."

"You don't need to owe me."

"I have already offered it. If you don't want to, then it's your choice to not claim it. It's the only thing I can offer," Takuma said. He felt better knowing that he was offering something in return— regardless of how small it may be.

Maruboshi didn't reply. Instead, he stood up. For a moment, Takuma thought he would back out, and his heart sank deeper than Tartarus's depths.

Maruboshi stared down at Takuma for what seemed like an eternity. "I will teach you..."

Takuma's heart sang songs of heavenly joy upon hearing Maruboshi.

"But at any point, I feel that you're not putting effort, our agreement will end," said Maruboshi, and it sounded solemn when coming from someone as elderly as him. "But if you give me your all, I shall do my best to reciprocate to the best my old bones can manage."

Takuma hurriedly got off the ground. "You won't feel the need," he said resolutely. He had been in the world long enough to observe some of the culture, so he bowed deeply to Maruboshi.

"Thank you for this opportunity... thank you..."

Maruboshi patted Takuma on his shoulder. "It's too early for you to be thanking me. If you want to thank me, do it after you graduate. I would gladly accept it then," he said. "How much time till your graduation?"

"Less than a year," Takuma said. He had been in the world for three weeks, and the school year had started two weeks before that. Meaning that one month had already passed. An academy school year was eleven months long with no summer break and only a single month respite between years. "I have roughly ten months until the last test."

"Ten months..." Maruboshi squinted as he said.

"Is that not enough time?" Takuma asked, knowing well it wasn't enough.

"It is not," Maruboshi said. "We will have to work long and hard every day. I will guide you best, but I can't promise progress. It's only you who can guarantee that."

"I... I understand," Takuma nodded. If he screwed up, it would be all on his head — that's what it sounded like to him. And he didn't like the sound of that at all. "When do we start?"

"Tomorrow. Meet me here in the morning at five."

"... Five?" Takuma blinked. He repeated it, hoping Maruboshi would correct himself, but the old man just smiled before vanishing in a whirlwind of leaves.

Takuma stood alone in the field, wondering the last time he had been awake at five. He had stayed awake through the night playing games, but it had been a while since he had done that. He looked up at the sky and wondered what the sky would look like at five in the morning.




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[Fiction]

The sky was blue at five in the morning, with a tinge of orange and yellow peeking at the horizon. The air felt cool with a hint of dew suspended in it, bringing a slight weight to the lightness of the early mornings.

Takuma stepped out from between the trees into the clearing. He hadn't spoken much last night, mostly thinking about his first official session with Maruboshi. Yet, he didn't feel a single wink of drowsiness. Maybe it was because he was now a kid or perhaps because he was simply excited.

Walking through the dew-laden grass made him sigh; he didn't like walking on wet grass. The boy only had two types of footwear— two pairs of open-toed shinobi sandals and one set of indoor slippers, none of them providing full coverage— his feet always ended up wet no matter what. He would need to save for a while to afford a good pair of shinobi-grade close-toed boots.

"I am not late, am I?" Takuma asked, shaking his feet by the ankle in hopes of getting some wetness out. He didn't own a wristwatch, so he woke up at four, got ready and was out of the house, knowing that even if he strolled, he would reach on or before time.

Maruboshi sat on the same rock he had been on yesterday, wearing the same style of clothing, working on the wooden block with a kunai. The carving, whatever it was, was still in its carving stage. He wore similar clothes to the day before, only in different colors. Takuma wondered if Maruboshi's old age was why he didn't wear the traditional Leaf shinobi gear like most of the shinobi population did. Maybe it was a generational thing, Takuma thought.

"Aren't there wood carving tools better suited for the job?" Takuma asked.

"Good morning," Maruboshi said and smiled. "There are indeed better tools, but I will never be as used to them as I'm to this one," he said, raising up the standard-issue Leaf kunai. "And that's the first lesson we will learn today— know your tools well."

Maruboshi put his carving aside and stood up from the rock. He played with the kunai in his hands— spun it by the ring on the end, twirled it between his digits, balanced it by the tip of the blade on his finger— he handled the kunai with such dexterity that it was fascinating to watch.

"On the field, in dangerous moments where life and death are on the line, your tools will save your life," he said. "Knowing what they can and can't do is of utmost importance. Knowing the capabilities within your reach will allow you to plan and adapt to the situation. Adapting is what will allow you to survive."

"Tools? I thought my mind or body would be of utmost importance," Takuma questioned.

"Why yes, your body and especially your mind are things that will keep you alive. But just like your kunai and explosion tags, your mind and body are tools for you to utilize." Maruboshi straightened his back. "Everything is a tool— even external entities such as the ground beneath you, the sky above you, and the trees around you— everything within reach is a tool. It's the ability to utilize them that separates a shinobi from a roadside bandit."

The words made sense to Takuma. It sounded similar to what he had heard once before. Complete knowledge of the situation allowed one to make the best decision possible.

"Did you bring your arsenal with you?" asked Maruboshi.

Takuma nodded, bringing the backpack to the front. He set the frayed bag with considerable weight down on one of his feet in the hopes that it would not touch the wet ground. He would hate if his only bag got wet— he used the same bag for fetching groceries.

"Show them to me."

Takuma promptly unloaded enough weapons and gadgets to cover up the ground between them. He had half a dozen kunai, a dozen shurikens, a bough of senbon, a survival knife, a thick jute rope, and half a pack of flash bombs. The kunai and shurikens were old and chipped, the senbon were all different lengths, the survival knife looked like it had seen better days, the rope was frayed and bent as if it had been tied and untied a hundred times, and the smoke bombs looked as cheap as they could get.

Maruboshi was frowning as he looked down at the weapons.

"Why, because they're old?" Takuma asked, frowning as well.

"No... not because they're old. I'm frowning because you carried everything in a backpack. You will be dead before you unslung your bag, forget about ever getting to the zipper. You need your weapons ready to be used at the twitch of your reflexes. This bag of yours," he picked up the big double shoulder strap bag, "is too big. If you wish to carry a carrier, it needs to be smaller and lighter and easier to access. Opt for multiple ones that can be attached around your body without hindering your movements. That also eliminated the risk of losing all your supplies all at once if you lose your sole big carrier."

Takuma's frown eased for a moment before coming back up again. "I don't have the money to buy them," he said. He was going to make sure that Maruboshi knew he had no money to spare.

"It matters not," Maruboshi waved him off as he squatted to get a closer look at Takuma's equipment. "You will make them on your own. Repairing your equipment is a skill every shinobi must know. You will learn it by making your own equipment. You will use ones you make until you can afford ones made by master craftsmen. Always take the best equipment you can procure to the field."

"O-Oh, okay," Takuma didn't think something like stitching would be added to his curriculum on the very first day. "What else?"

"I need to know your height and weight," asked Maruboshi.

"I don't know," Takuma hadn't had the need to measure either. He looked down at himself, and he had no relative sense of measure to make an estimated guess.

"... I would say 150cm and... I would like to say less than 35kg," Maruboshi said after staring at Takuma for a moment. "I think the academy's medical room will have the scales in there. Get yourself measured the first chance you get. Alright off with your shirt."

Takuma pulled off his shirt without a thought, but only after he realized what the situation looked like. He was a shirtless minor in front of an adult— the picture shouted misdemeanor from every angel. He looked at Maruboshi with hidden suspicion and brought the shirt clutched in his hand a little close to him.

"... If you don't mind, may I ask what happened," Maruboshi said.

Takuma was confused but when he looked down, he realized Maruboshi was talking about the scarring on his body. He had forgotten about that for a second. He looked at Maruboshi and shrugged. "They've been there since before I can remember," he said. He didn't have an excuse for the scars and this was better than coming up with one on the spot.

Maruboshi stared at the scarring before he finally moved on.

"You've not been eating properly," said Maruboshi. "We will need to put some meat on your body, or you'll be too weak. Muscle not only gives strength, but it grants speed and stability as well. What do you eat throughout the day?"

Takuma proudly told him his new diet plan was full of protein. When Maruboshi raised his brow suspiciously, Takuma said as he put his shit back on, "I just changed it a couple weeks back."

Maruboshi nodded and told him to add a serving of fruits somewhere in the middle of the day.

What followed was a series of questions about Takuma's knowledge. What he knew, what he didn't, what were his expectations from the mentorship— and so many pointed and specific questions that made Takuma feel nervous as if all of his secrets were being unfolded. By the time the questions were done, Takuma was sure Maruboshi knew him better than anyone in this world.

"Hmm... I fear we have our work cut out for us," Maruboshi sighed and looked at Takuma with what he thought was pity. "Child, it's as if you know nothing taught in the academy. As though I will need to teach you everything academy students need to be taught."

Takuma gulped, for those words were the real truth. He needed to be taught everything from scratch. At least he was older and would learn quicker than children who weren't even ten... or that was what he hoped for.

"Did you know... my parents were one of the first ones that settled in the village who were not from a shinobi clan? My father was a humble woodworker and my dear mother was the best seamstress in the Land of Fire," Maruboshi softly smiled as he recounted memories. "My parents didn't need me to help with their work or wanted me to learn their craft, so I was one of the first civilian children to join the academy, which had been only recently founded by Lord Second. There were only three of us in my year; the rest were from shinobi clans."

Takuma didn't know why Maruboshi was sharing it, but he listened with great attention and interest as the only history about the academy he knew was that Lord Second had founded it to standardize the shinobi training for children to strengthen the village's military strength.

"In those days, the academy only used to be three years..."

The new piece of information overwhelmed Takuma's fascination with history. That was two years off the current curriculum was a huge difference, especially when the children hadn't even reached puberty.

"... And we have ten months now. I don't know what has changed since my time and now, but I believe what I learned in the academy was enough of a foundation for me. So, here's what I propose— I will base my coaching on what I learned in the academy and modify it using my life experience as a shinobi and what the academy teaches currently. For that to happen, you will need to bring me your academy books and scrolls. What do you say; should we go ahead with this?"

Having no opinion on the matter, Takuma was ready to give his agreement. But he reigned in that impulse and gave the proposal some thought. Takuma didn't know how old Maruboshi was, but it must've been at least three or four decades since he was in the academy. What all could've changed in that time. He doubted the academy had stayed stale for such a long time. What if things were done differently now?

'But he did say that he will include his experience as shinobi, so maybe it will be alright?' Takuma thought. 'Do I have something to add?' No, he did not. He was going to take anything provided to him.

"I will follow your lead. As for the books, I'll have them here tomorrow," he said.

"We meet once a day in the morning. I will instruct you in the mornings. I believe you'll have time after school; in that time, you must complete whatever I ask you to do," said Maruboshi. "As for theoretical knowledge, we—"

"I read those during the class," said Takuma. He shrugged, "I don't listen in classes because I don't understand what's being taught. Lately, I have been reading from books and scrolls. I will cover subjects such as history, mathematics, finance, and physics on my own— but for subjects like politics, strategy, and tactics, I hope you'll instruct me however you see fit."

While they could be learned through books, Takuma believed that someone like Maruboshi could help him understand the realities related to applied subjects like tactics and strategy. There was a point where ideal theoretical knowledge needed to be translated into executable practical stratagem. That's where actual field experience came in handy.

Maruboshi looked suspicious and unsure.

"You can test me if you like," Takuma said, taking no offense. He hadn't given Maruboshi any reason to trust that he could handle his studies without supervision. Trust needed to be built, and Takuma was ready to build that from the ground up without complaining.

Maruboshi agreed to let Takuma study things independently if he passed regular testing.

"Enough talking and planning; let's train— we will discuss more when we take a break," said Maruboshi.

"What are we doing?" Takuma asked excitedly.

Maruboshi beamed his usual kind smile. "Why conditioning, of course."

By the time they were done, Takuma had added conditioning to the list of his most hated things in the world.




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[Fiction]

One thing Takuma disliked about the schedule Maruboshi had put him on was that he went through three sets of clothes daily. And for him, who didn't have a washing machine in his house, it was extra work after a hard day of exhaustion. He had to change clothes after his morning session with Maruboshi because he didn't want to enter a classroom full of people with dirty and sweat-stinking clothes.

"Takuma and Izumi. Come up."

Takuma stood up from the perimeter circle upon hearing Kibe's command.

At least he didn't have to change the clothes he wore in the academy because even if they got dirty in a taijutsu spar as they were about to, he could still wear them in his evening session because he was alone in the evening.

He arrived at the center of the sparring circle and faced his opponent. Uchiha Izumi, a girl with large onyx eyes who wore her brow hair in a ponytail. Takuma was pleased with his opponent today. He would get out relatively scot-free from the spar. Uchiha Izumi was the best at taijutsu in his class, but unlike others of her skill who would strike vital points and aim to cause the most pain, Izumi's hits were softer, and she hit at points where it didn't hurt much. And he knew it wasn't because she was weak— Takuma had seen her make Akimichi Hideaki clutch his fat gut after a spar.

And she didn't even leave bruises! Takuma would happily come to the academy with a smile if Izumi was his opponent in every spar.

"Start!"

Takuma dropped his Seal of Confrontation and immediately jumped back just in time to dodge the sweeping kick by Izumi. He ducked down to dodge another kick from her and rolled back to get out of her range.

He had improved! Takuma truly thought so... for three more seconds before Izumi took a deep forestep and got Takuma into her hitting range. Takuma couldn't even raise his hands on guard as Izumi got three hits in. The first kick went to the side, making him curl his body to the right, and the second hit followed immediately after to the other side. Before Takuma could even process it, Izumi elbowed him in the thigh, making his feet quiver in a sudden bout of weakness.

The Uchiha eased her stance and stood relaxed in front of a half-crouching Takuma. She pressed her foot on Takuma's before then gently pushing his forehead with her fingers. Takuma leaned back, and because he couldn't move one of his feet, he lost balance, tumbling down on his butt.

And when he looked up, Izumi had a kunai pointed at him. She didn't look pleased or otherwise and simply gazed down at Takuma with a passive expression.

"And, that's it," Kibe finished the fight.

Takuma sighed. So much for improving; he got his ass handed faster than he could've gotten in a hit himself.

He looked up and saw that Izumi had two fingers pointed at him. He realized what she meant, grabbed her two fingers with his two, and let her pull him up. The Seal of Reconciliation was complete, and the spar was officially over.

'Ah... I really want to win one,' Takuma sighed as he returned to his spot.

-.-.-​

"You got better."

Takuma was distracted away from his note-taking by a soft voice beside him. He looked up to see who it was with the intention to immediately return to his work. No one in the class would speak to him. But he suddenly found himself staring into a pair of deep onyx eyes belonging to one Uchiha Izumi.

Startled, Takuma jerked away and bumped his knee into the downside of the bench. His face scrunched in pain as he furiously rubbed his knee in an attempt to soothe the pain.

"Is it fine?" she asked.

"Y-Yeah, it's fine," he said before looking around the classroom. No one was looking toward them. He turned back to her, "Do you want something?"

"You got better," Izumi repeated. "You were better today than the last time we fought. That hop back in the start was the right move."

"Yet the end result remained the same," Takuma sighed.

"Of course," Izumi said as if the result of their fight was as natural as the air they breathed.

Such confidence could very well be annoying, but coming from Izumi, the girl who didn't bash his body blue, it seemed endearing. It made Takuma chuckle.

"Why do you laugh?" she asked, a slight frown appearing between her brows.

He shook his head. "You wanted to tell me that I got better, that's it?" he asked.

"Should I've come with something else?" she asked, tilting her head.

"No... Thank you for the compliment, though. I've been working hard to get better. Hearing that it's paying off from someone else makes all of it worth it," Takuma said with a smile.

"What have you been doing?"

"Getting hit mostly," said Takuma, nodding.

Izumi returned his nod in understanding. It wasn't a joke; Maruboshi had Takuma learning how to take hits. Learning how to block— like how blocking with the shoulder hurt the least, how to reposition the body to take the impact away from its intended target, the correct way to fall and retreat, and how to dodge whenever possible. In his efforts, he had been hit more than he had been in his entire life— that counter had been broken on the very first day.

"How did you get so good at taijutsu?" he asked. She was his peer and leagues better than him. Maruboshi might be experienced, but he wasn't ten years old; he hadn't been for a very long time. Another perspective might do him good, Takuma thought.

"... I practiced," Izumi said after a pause.

'Is she one of the instinctive types?' he thought. "What kind of practice? I don't know when to switch between defense and offense. When do I know it's the right time to move in for an attack and not get my face bashed-in while doing it?" he asked.

Offensive striking for Takuma was a tricky topic. He had at least one spar every day in the academy, maybe even two when Kibe thought he hadn't fulfilled his quota of daily humiliation. In every spar, he had to pick his chances to try to hit his opponent. Every opponent he faced was more skilled than him and physically stronger than him— even the shorter and leaner girls with the same weight as him were stronger and faster than him. He suspected chakra. For most of the fights, he was on the defense, trying to dodge and block attacks, and every time he tried to switch to offense, he had been soundly made to smooch the ground.

"I can't explain that here on the spot," said Izumi after some thought. "One of the times to hit someone is right after they've launched an attack. They're vulnerable to an attack as their body is in motion, and you can find an opening to exploit. There are many other opportunities where your attacks have a high chance of succeeding. I learned all of them one by one during spars; some I noticed on my own, others were pointed out to me. You have to spar again and again... until your mind stops looking for openings and your body takes over that job."

Takuma narrowed his eyes. It made sense. Maruboshi had told him that combat was more about honed instincts than active thinking.

'Maybe her eyes helped her with taijutsu,' he thought.

When one heard of the Uchiha clan, the first thing that came to mind was their kekkei genkai, one of the Three Great Dojutsu— Sharingan, the Copy Wheel Eye. The infamous red eyes with commas enabled the Uchiha reading lip moments to copy ninjutsu and taijutsu. Nothing was safe under the Sharingan's gaze; all secrets were laid bare for the Uchiha to exploit. The Uchiha who had awakened Sharingan could copy any taijutsu they liked and execute if their body allowed the moment.

Uchiha Sasuke had done so with Rock Lee— copying the taijutsu prodigy's style like a mirror and then had trained his body until he could imitate the absurd moments that could only be performed after hours over hours, day after day of grueling practice.

As part of the story flashed through Takuma's mind, he felt a little cold as he looked at Uchiha Izumi. Sasuke copying Lee wasn't the most terrifying part of the story. It was how it had been achieved. Sasuke wasn't there to see Lee perform his entire breadth of taijutsu against Gaara— it was Kakashi Hatake with his transplanted Sharingan who had copied the movements, who then taught Sasuke. Making Sasuke's learning from a secondhand source. And yet, the moves had come out to be precisely the same.

A thought emerged in Takuma's mind. Sasuke was barely six when the Uchiha clan was wiped out by his brother, Uchiha Itachi. A child as young as Sasuke wouldn't have spent much time training with his clan—

'Learning from teachers who had seen various styles of taijutsu, fought a diverse range of opponents... and had copied all of their moves,' thought Takuma. Teachers who could give so much to their students.

The Uchiha clan hadn't been annihilated yet. Izumi Uchiha was the proof of it. It was not only her; Takuma had even seen shinobi from Leaf Military Police Force patrolling market streets— all of them sported a fan symbol that resembled the Uchiha clan symbol. Some of them even had similar onyx eyes to Izumi's.

He couldn't exactly recall when the Uchiha massacre occurred, but the clan was alive and thriving now. Which meant Izumi must have learned from an Uchiha— and he felt both terrified and envious. Terrified that she could do much worse during their spars and envious that he didn't have the superior genetics that would've made his life a lot easier.

But then Takuma frowned. Did Izumi even have Sharingan? He thought about it; given her age, it was unlikely she had awakened her bloodline. Which meant she had gotten good through plain effort. He felt ashamed.

"The only way to get better is to keep doing it until you are good, is it," Takuma sighed. He didn't have a Sharingan lying around in his eye socket or any kekkei genkai. Meaning if he wanted to get better, he needed to fight more so he could learn more.

"What do you eat?" he asked, leaving the Uchiha line of thought behind. It only served to make him feel pity toward himself. Everyone was stronger and faster than him; maybe the kids these days were eating something that he and Maruboshi didn't know.

She shrugged and said she ate whatever her mother gave her to eat. Izumi listed off the things she ate, and they matched the home cuisine of Leaf village. She even listed plenty of sweets that she got after dinner as dessert. Takuma was envious— he could only have fruit as sweets, and that too never after dinner. That was bad, Maruboshi had mandated so himself.

"How're you so flexible? I can't get my kicks to the head," Takuma said with a wrinkle between his brows. Maruboshi was an empathetic person and teacher, but he had openly shown his displeasure with Takuma's inflexibility.

"I don't know. I was always flexible."

'Fucking talented people!' Takuma cursed in his mind.

"But I stretch every morning."

"Oh! What do you do? Show it to me someday, yeah? I'm more rigid than a steel pipe."

Izumi snickered and chuckled behind her hand as her big eyes turned into crescents. "What's with that? That's funny."

Well, at least his worries have the use of making others laugh, thought Takuma. Cheers for self-deprecating humor...

He hoped he could enjoy it one day... and wished that day would be close by.




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[Fiction]

Jurou shifted her diary and folder of documents onto her right forearm with her fingers curling inwards to clutch them in place as she straightened the pleats of her long white skirt and tucked the strands of hair falling on her face behind her ear.

She straightened her back and pressed the white doorbell button that had turned yellow from the elements with time. She stepped back and waited for a dozen seconds or so before she heard footsteps behind the door with cracked sky-blue paint that had once contrasted beautifully with the gray walls that had now faded away.

The darkness inside the spyhole in the door lit up for a moment before the darkness returned. The door opened a few seconds later, showing the boy that stood half-hidden by the door.

"Yes?" asked the boy.

Jurou gazed at the boy and matched the face in her file with the one in front of him. "Hello, Takuma. It is Umeda Jurou. Don't you remember me? We met when I showed you the apartment on the day you moved in. I even visited you a few months back."

The boy narrowed his eyes as if doubting her words. "I see... and what brings you here?" he asked.

"I came for a scheduled home visit," Jurou said. She wasn't fazed by the doubt from Takuma. Orphans studying in the shinobi academy were sometimes more guarded and suspicious than their civilian counterparts— she had met a few of them through the years. She was going to make sure Takuma here felt comfortable with her.

"Scheduled visit?" Takuma frowned. "I wasn't informed about any visit, scheduled or not. I'm sorry, who are you again?"

Jurou took out a laminated id-card from the slit in the cover of her leather diary and held it in front of Takuma. "My name is Umeda Jurou. I'm from Leaf Child Welfare Services. I'm here for a scheduled meetup with you. You weren't told because we like to keep them secret and give people a pleasant surprise," she smiled. "I'd like to have a short talk with you, get to know how you are doing, and just ask some questions that are part of the procedure. It's nothing serious."

And she was here to assess how he was handling life living alone after having lived in an orphanage where children were never alone.

Juruo was about to pull back her id-card when Takuma suddenly snatched it out of her hand. He looked at her and said, "This is a sketchy neighborhood, and while you look like a lovely person, I hope you don't mind," and began intently reading her id-card.

She was a little taken aback; she hadn't had her id-card taken from her for observation. Usually, people gave it barely a glance before looking back at her.

"Of-Of course," she said with a strained smile.

"This looks... right," Takuma said as he handed the id-card back to her. "I apologize if I came across as rude. I couldn't recall seeing you before. I'm bad with names and faces, you see." He opened the door and stepped back to invite her inside.

'And yet you want to become a shinobi,' Jurou thought as she entered the house.

Takuma messily kicked off his outsider slippers beside his dirty shinobi sandals— one of them was lying sideways, and she could see mud caked inside the groves of the sole. Takuma asked her to wait before running inside the house. When he returned, he had a pair of indoor slippers in his hands.

"Please wear these," he said.

Jurou noticed Takuma wasn't wearing any.

'He has appropriate house manners... till now,' Juro jotted a mental note as she removed her short heels and slipped on the indoor slippers. She had seen shinobi orphans who were their outside shoes and sandals inside their house, bringing in dirt and mud along with them.

Takuma next guided her into the house. By guided, she meant she followed him into the small studio apartment, and her eyes widened for a moment as she took in the inside.

The last time she had been here was nearly five months back, and at that time, like every other orphan, Takuma's place was a mess. Clothes lying everywhere, weeks' worth of trash accumulated on the table- unthrown, walls and floor that looked like they hadn't been dusted and cleaned in months— it was filthy and messier than an adult bachelor's pad. She had filled it in her report and had advised Takuma to clean up. It wasn't a concern at that time— the orphans who left their orphanage because of the academy rule had dirty homes, but they usually got better with time as they became shinobi and learned to be organized from their militant life.

She wasn't expecting to see a clean home today. 'At least not this clean,' she thought. The house was spotless. The living area looked empty, but that was because there wasn't enough furniture, but whatever there was, it was tidied. She could see the kitchen, and it looked hygienic (and used) with clean dishes in the dish rack. The floor beneath her was old and had long lost its shine, but it looked like it was dusted and moped.

'Maybe he stuffed everything into his bedroom.' She had been on visits where the children had tried to make their home look clean by shoving everything into a room or closet. She was going to check it later. If not, then atleast fortunately after being a slob in his newfound freedom he has now adopted a neater way of living, probably to have some structure to cling on to. Orphans generally had 'one neat aspect'— their life is chaotic so the one thing they do to feel in control by keeping one thing in control.

"Please take a seat," Takuma pointed at the small two-seater table. "I hope water is fine with you. I have fresh milk with me if you want any."

"Water will do, thank you," Jurou said as she sat down. The table had a small potted plant on it. She touched it and froze when she felt the plastic leaves— it was fake.

As Takuma was in the kitchen, Jurou let her eyes roam around the house. The decor was simple, and while she couldn't recall the furniture at all from her last visit, she felt it hadn't changed much. The heavy gray sheet on the couch did seem odd, but it didn't look like he was hiding something underneath it.

'He seems to be handling his house well,' Jurou thought. That was a good sign.

She was facing the small balcony with large half-glass sliding doors, the only natural light source in the room. Outside, she could see clothes hanging on the wire. Jurou turned away from the window and towards another wall when she jumped in her seat because of surprise.

There was a wide wall behind her with no decor. It would've been empty if not for the vast amount of paper stuck to the wall. Clusters and rows of full-sized, half-sized, and even quarter-sized sheets of paper were attached to the wall with tape. Every page had something written and drawn upon it. Jurou couldn't read it from her spot and was about to get up when she heard.

"Please don't look at it."

Takuma had returned with a tray in his hand. He set it down on the table, and it had a glass of water and a mug of steaming milk.

"What is that?" she asked.

"My notes. I like it when they're in front of me; it helps when I'm trying to remember and memorize things." Takuma smiled abashedly. "It's not usually this messy and full. I just got lazy and didn't pull down topics I was already done with."

Jurou stared at the notes. This didn't seem right.

"So, you said you wanted to ask me some questions?" Takuma asked.

She looked back at him. After a pause, she nodded. "I just wanted to know how're you doing? I know it can be tough living alone— there's so much to do around the house, and it can seem like a lot, especially when you're attending the academy. You must be busy."

Takuma shrugged. "It was difficult at first, but I got used to it. Things settled into a routine, and nothing gets piled up as long as I do the chores on time."

Jurou opened her diary and uncapped her pen. "How are things at the academy going? I hope everything's well. If I recall correctly, you are in your last year." She clearly knew Takuma was in his last year.

"Hmm, things have been going well," Takuma nodded. "I have been learning a lot. Some of it is interesting, some other is boring. But you know, that's normal. Lots of spars. We even spent the night in the forest the other day. It was fun. I'm trying to do better— and well, looking forward to becoming a shinobi at the end of the year."

'With your grades, that's not going to happen,' Jurou thought to herself as she took down her notes.

The 'scheduled' visit was indeed scheduled for every orphan in the last year of the shinobi academy. But usually, they would be informed about the visit beforehand. Takuma's case was... entirely different.

Jurou looked at the boy, who according to his file, was dead last in his class with grades and skills so bad that many second-year and most third-year students would do better if they were dumped in the last year. Takuma hadn't won a spar in three years and had barely scored passing marks since he joined the academy. But things had gotten worse recently when Takuma had suddenly gotten progressively worse.

Which prompted the appropriate systems in place to alert the authorities about the situation. Jurou's visit was a result of that. She was here to find out the reason behind all of it.

She was then to compile her findings into a report which would go to shinobi administration authorities, who would then take them into account while deciding if Takuma was fit to be a Leaf shinobi. Or, in case he fails the graduation test, is he worth it to keep in the academy or to be enrolled into a program like the civilian spy program where Takuma would have his identity erased and sent to places of importance as a spy for information for a very long time to build an identity that would stand even the strongest checks— that kind of false identity took even decades to build, and sending a shinobi was a waste of resources. Thus, a civilian was sent. And who else better than a failed academy graduate.

Even though the boy in front of her didn't know, this meeting was extremely important for him.

"What about money?" she asked as the conversation continued. "Have you been spending your allowance properly?"

"Yeah, I think I've been," Takuma said. "The month ends usually end up tighter than I would like, but what can I do." He shrugged before leaning forward and asking, "Is there any way I can have my allowance increased? You see—"

"I'm sorry, everyone gets the same allowance, and increasing it doesn't happen if not very special cases," she said, ending the turn of conversation before it could even start.

Takuma sighed as he leaned back into his chair. "Thought so... no harm in trying, though."

"How do you usually spend your allowance? What do you usually buy in a week," she asked.

Takuma stood up and walked into his bedroom, and soon returned with a file in hand. "Here you go. This is my budget and expenses for the last three months and the current month, which is still going. You can see my expenses on every day I spent money since I started this record. Receipts, whatever I could get, are attached for reference."

Taken aback once more, Jurou received the file and opened it to find a very detailed record of Takuma's expenses. Every expense had been mentioned clearly— where, when, and how much. She flipped to a random part of the file and saw Takuma had bought groceries—

"You cook?" she asked when she saw what looked like ingredients.

"I do; it's cheaper that way."

That was another positive point for Takuma... and yet it only served to confuse Jurou more. She flipped to the last page and saw Takuma's last purchase was leather from a fabric store.

When she asked him about it, he responded. "I have been learning how to repair my equipment for a couple months now. The best way to do it is to make your own."

And then Takuma leaned down to pull up the legs of his pants to reveal a leather ankle holster. He pulled a small knife out of it and placed it on the table with the blade facing Jurou. She looked at the gleaming knife and then at Takuma, who simply smiled as if proud of his skill.

"Hey... I wonder if that," Takuma pointed at the file in front of Jurou, "is about. Hey, can you show that to me for a moment."

Takuma reached out, but Jurou pulled the file back. "I'm sorry, but the file is for official eyes only. I can't let you see it," she said with an apologetic file. The file didn't have anything in it, but it made a good tactic for making the person nervous— and distracting them away from the conversation, which made them slip out answers without meaning to.

"Is that so," Takuma hummed as he leaned back into his chair. He looked like he had lost all interest in the conversation.

"What are your days like?" Jurou asked. "Tell me, after I leave, what will you do next. Take it from there."

Takuma picked up the knife and began twirling it with his fingers. "Hmm, today's Sunday, so I don't have to train. I will go shopping for groceries, then clean the house, then start making dinner, tomorrow's breakfast, and lunch as well. I will wash clothes while it's getting cooked. Have an early dinner because I skipped lunch. Then spend the time until bed studying, practicing secondary skills, and just relaxing a little..."

That was a normal Sunday, too normal. Jurou thought a kid of Takuma's age would like to go out and play.

"... Tomorrow, I will wake up at five, take a dump, get the clothes down from the wire, " Takuma said, making Jurou hold back a frown— was he wasting time by going into such detail, she didn't need to know when he got his clothes down from drying,

"Then I will leave home to go train with Maruboshi-sensei—"

"Maruboshi?" Jurou interrupted. That was the first time Takuma had mentioned a person. He hadn't even mentioned his academy teacher, the primary adult figure in his life. 'And did he say sensei?' "Who is this Maruboshi-sensei?"

Takuma suddenly stopped twirling the dangerous knife. He looked at her and stayed silent for a good moment as all sound died down in the house. She didn't speak, didn't even urge him to continue.

"... A shinobi," he said simply and only that.

"And why does this Maruboshi-sensei train with you?" she asked.

Takuma shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't know; he just does."

"You never asked?"

"Why would I? A shinobi offered to train me, and I accepted. He's a shinobi, after all," Takuma finished with a glimmer of idealism in his eyes.

There was nothing about someone known as Maruboshi in Takuma's file. An unknown shinobi interacting with an academy orphan; she needed to report that. That unknown shinobi could very well be an enemy spy trying to recruit a naive orphan into becoming a mole. Why else would a shinobi help an orphan like Takuma who had nothing to offer. According to Takuma's file, his parents were supposed to be traveling merchants who did business across the Land of Fire, and had died in an accident during the Kyuubi incident. An unfortunate time for them into the Leaf village.

"What does he look like?" she asked.

"Hmm? He's tall, strong, knows a lot, is kind, and really-really cool," Takuma said with a smile. "Do you know he can throw ten shurikens, all at once, at the dead center of the target? How cool is that?!"

That description. Jurou frowned. That described every adult shinobi from the eyes of an idolizing ten-year-old. That didn't narrow it down even a little.

"Do you have his full name?" she asked.

"... No?" Takuma said, his voice like a mosquito.

'Idiot,' she sighed and thought, 'that man probably gave him a false name.'

Jurou closed her diary and smiled, "Thank you, Takuma. That'll be all. You're living well, and I see no problems here. I hope you'll continue working hard and make the village proud by becoming a splendid shinobi."

As Jurou exited the small apartment complex, she looked up and saw Takuma standing in the corridor in front of his front door. He turned and walked back into his house just as she looked at him.

'Was he frowning?' she thought for a fleeting moment before walking away, thinking it was just her vision.





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Note: All the chapters will eventually be posted on public forums.

 

[Fiction]

"Young Takuma, did you talk to someone about us?"

Takuma flicked his head up to rid the sweat-soaked hair from his face as he looked at Maruboshi. He stopped pushing the large sheet metal basket filled with heavy sand—

"Do not stop," said Maruboshi.

Takuma scowled and let out a frustrated groan as he went back to pushing the thing across wet mud, elevating the annoyingness of the task. Feeling the wet mud get between his toes made him hate that he hadn't saved enough money for a pair of shinobi boots.

"What do you mean?" Takuma's voice flared up as he dug his feet in, giving the box a heavy push.

"Someone came to ask me what relationship I have with you."

Takuma frowned and stopped pushing as he turned his face to look at Maruboshi—

"Continue pushing," said Maruboshi before Takuma could even relax his body.

"Don't talk to me then!" Takuma said, shouting with irritation. He resumed the pushing, feeling every step forward in his thighs. "There was a lady... Umeda something, I will have to look in my notebook," Maruboshi had taught him to carry a pocket notebook with him to note down information. "From Leaf Child Welfare Services... She came to my house to talk, and we chatted about how a typical day looks for me. I think I mentioned you there. That's the only time I can remember talking about you with anyone. Why did something happen?"

Takuma wanted nothing more than to put his hands down and use his shoulder or, better, his back to push the useless box of sand, but couldn't— stupid order from Maruboshi.

"The man who visited me was from the Leaf Genin Resource Command."

"What is that?"

"They are in charge of distribution, strategic talent management, personnel programs and services of Leaf genin. To put it roughly, they manage everything related to Leaf genin. Everything from ensuring the genins are being deployed for missions to issuing their paychecks," said Maruboshi. "You can stop now," he added at the end.

Takuma pushed no more and turned around to lean against the metal box. He wanted to hop onto it so he could sit, but he knew Maruboshi would tell him to remain standing.

"Why would they come asking?" Takuma asked. He wasn't a genin yet, not even close to one.

"I believe they also handle part of recruitment from the academy. You are in your last year; I assume you come under their purview."

"What did they want from you?"

"Nothing more than some answers. The man asked if I knew you, how we met, how long we had known each other, and why I was training you when I told him about us. The man immediately left after that," Maruboshi said, shaking his head.

"Am I in any trouble?" Takuma asked.

"No, I don't think so. From what I could tell, he was interested in knowing why I decided to train you. As for why they were interested, I asked but did not get an answer in return," said Muruboshi, sighing.

Takuma narrowed his eyes. He knew the lady was trouble when she started asking him about Maruboshi. He had to turn on his ten-year-old child's portrayal and act like a dumb kid when she started asking questions about Maruboshi. He didn't like her from the moment she refused to show him the folder— there could've been important details about his past in there, information that he would've loved to know. Takuma still knew jack about the boy's past.

"I believe they were simply concerned about what an unrelated adult was doing with a minor, an orphan at that," Maruboshi said with a bitter smile. "You see, young Takuma, there exist people—"

"You don't need to tell me about pedophiles, sensei," Takuma said with thin lips. He didn't like the sound of people suspecting Maruboshi as a filthy pedophile— he couldn't even imagine how Maruboshi felt, especially when he was just trying to help. "I, for a fact, am grateful that I came across you, sensei. I would have been screwed hard if not for you... pun not intended?"

Maruboshi didn't laugh.

"That's enough pushing for now; you will continue later," he said, making Takuma feel elated and despair at the same time. "Let's move; we will do something new today."

The master-student duo moved away from the mud swamp, and Takuma was delighted to step onto solid, dry ground. His dirty sandals and feet did put a hamper on the simple feeling of joy he was feeling, though.

"Face me and stand still," said Maruboshi.

He raised his hands and quickly weaved hand signs before opening his mouth to eject a jet of water from his mouth toward Takuma's feet.

Takuma was surprised and almost lost balance because of it. He stiffly stared at Maruboshi's mouth as he spouted liquid like a water fountain. He was entranced and alarmed by the sight in front of him. It wasn't his first time seeing a Jutsu; he had seen the 'Bunshin no Jutsu (Clone Jutsu)' and 'Henge no Jutsu (Transformation Jutsu)' in the academy before. He had been startled by how real the transformations and clones looked; he couldn't imagine how people told the real apart from the fake.

But this was the first time he had seen an elemental jutsu.

The force of the water stream was high and tight enough that all the mud was stripped away, never needing Takuma to even wiggle his toes. The force made Takuma remember the danger of water he had seen on the internet. How pressured water could shear through metal sheets like a saw— or how sturdy houses were nothing in front of a strong flood wave as if they were made from thin pieces of plywood.

He could imagine what those things could do to a human body. He was made cognizant of the fact that people in this world could replicate those feats with enough skill. The pit of his stomach suddenly felt heavier than ever before.

Maruboshi stopped spouting water like a certain turtle pokemon and smiled, "Today... we learn about Chakra."

Takuma couldn't help but do a sharp intake. It had been four months since he had come under Maruboshi's tutelage, and never in those four months had Maruboshi brought up the topic of chakra on his own accord. It was always Takuma who initiated conversations about chakra and when Maruboshi was going to teach him about chakra; every time, he would get the same answer: "Now's not the time." It frustrated him a lot. There were days Takuma feared that Maruboshi wouldn't teach him how to wield chakra.

"A question for you, young Takuma. What is chakra?" asked Maruboshi.

Takuma was quick to answer. "Chakra is an energy native to every lifeform on this planet. It is a product of combining a living being's physical and spiritual energies. By training these two energies, you can harness larger amounts of chakra." He thrust his thumb into his left chest: "The heart performs the function of integrating the energies to produce chakra— which can be then carried by the chakra pathway system inside the body, which functions what blood vessels do for blood. Chakra is the fuel for even the most basic of jutsu— without chakra there's no jutsu, and without jutsu, there's no shinobi... so without, there's no shinobi," Takuma bitterly stared down at his hand, no matter what he did, he couldn't invoke his chakra... And as he said, without chakra, he was no shinobi.

Maruboshi, unaware of Takuma's thoughts, smiled. "Very good. I couldn't have described it better myself. It's clear that you've read about chakra. I commend you for your efforts."

Takuma looked up at Maruboshi and glared, "I did it because you refuse to teach me!" After getting refused repeatedly, Takuma took matters into his own hand and explored the foreign topic of chakra on his own. He had already turned every page on the Introduction of Chakra booklet. Alas, when it came to the practical sides of things, Takuma couldn't sense the 'C' of chakra. It had caused him several sleepless nights and hours of horror-filled thoughts.

"It was not time," Maruboshi said simply, not taking offense at Takuma's accusation. "As you said, there can't be jutsu without chakra, and shinobi without jutsu. But here I would like to add that for academy students such as yourself, chakra doesn't hold a great importance."

"... D-Did I hear that correctly?" Takuma was stunned. "I'm sorry, I don't know if I agree with you on that. Chakra is the basis of everything. A shinobi is worse than a roadside bandit without it because even thugs like them can use some chakra."

Shinobi academy didn't hold a monopoly over the training of chakra. Rogue shinobi had long since allowed chakra practice to leak outside the military organizations. Some ill-minded people in the darkest corners of society did teach people without the discipline to wield chakra, who used it for anything but good. Then there were rare shrine temples dotting the lands that practiced non-combatant studies of chakra— chakra was present in religious cults— and in the swordplay of samurai... and many more communities and institutions that used chakra in their own ways.

"So young, so naive," Maruboshi sighed with a soft smile. Takuma didn't know if it was an old person thing, but Maruboshi had the tendency to say things that made his face twitch in anger. "With time, you will come to realize how a shinobi is much more than the chakra he wields. To be a shinobi is a way of life... I hope you will understand it one day."

"Your average academy student doesn't have enough chakra in their bodies. The children have not entered puberty, the growth stage, where the amount of chakra develops rapidly with the rest of the body," Maruboshi continued. "While Henge No Jutsu (Transformation Jutsu) and Bunshin No Jutsu (Clone Jutsu) are taught in the academy, neither is useful in the field. Shinobi are trained to see through the illusionary clones, and while transformation can fool the civilian eye, a shinobi can see right through the jutsu's disguise. Disguising oneself is an art form in itself that takes years to perfect."

'The transformations in the class could've fooled me any time of the day,' thought Takuma. He probably had a worse eye for it than even the most rock-headed people.

"They are taught to make the student get used to channeling chakra, get familiarized with hand signs, and because learning jutsu excites children," said Maruboshi. "Going beyond is simply not worth it when you can take the time to teach so many other skills necessary for competence and survival.

And you, who doesn't have much time before graduation, I would instead train your body and teach you skills that make a shinobi different from the average roadside bandit."

Takuma narrowed his eyes at the analogy thrown back at him.

"What about the clan kids? They train in their clan's shinobi arts from a young age," he said.

"Did you hear that from a friend of yours, one that belongs to a clan?" asked Maruboshi.

"N-No," sputtered Takuma. He didn't have friends.

"Then I will tell you what most of the children from shinobi clans will tell you. Yes, they do go through training of their clans, but believe it or not, most of it revolves around the same subject taught in the academy..."

Takuma was about to ask why they would do that, but he then remembered the existence of coaching classes and after-school tuitions many kids took back at his home.

"The academy isn't perfect, and the clans know that, so they prepare their children. They go deeper into the subjects taught and cover some more that the academy doesn't cover, things that might increase their children's chances of survival on the field. And yes, I won't deny that children from shinobi clans do learn their clan's shinobi arts— but in most cases, it's a special form of taijutsu or some knowledge that would help them practice their clan's special ninjutsu when they are ready in the future. Only a select few who showcase talent with chakra are encouraged to learn more advanced jutsu— clan or otherwise."

Takuma hung his head down. He, of course, didn't know any of that. The truth of the matter was that he just wanted to use chakra. It was chakra, after all! Anyone who had read Naruto even once had the thought of being able to use the mystic power.

"How do you know I'm not one of those select cases," asked Takuma with a tinge of defiance. He, after all, still wanted to learn chakra— and from what Maruboshi had said, it didn't look like he would get to do much of that in their training, at least, not as much as he would like.

"I do not know. Maybe you have gained some skill as you pursued it in your own time," said Maruboshi. "Can you use chakra, young Takuma?"

Takuma felt his face burn up. He felt stupid... really... really... stupid.

He shook his head in shame.

Maruboshi smiled, the kind one that he showed most often.

"Then let's remedy that."




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