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

-Some drama and some psychotic stuff. It's real edgy. SI will somehow end up in a universal harem, well the ending's pretty wild.

Sypnosis: Fear can make you do stupid things. When you're two years behind Itachi, that's a luxury you can't afford. Drama, Angst, Humor, Horror, Bad Decisions, FFN is shit about tags, Read this on SpaceBattles, SI/OC

Rated: M

Words: 136K

Posted on: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12539731/1/Kaleidoscope (TotoroX92)

PS: If you're not able to copy/paste the link, you have everything in here to find it, by simply searching the author and the story title. It sucks that you can't copy links on mobile (´ー｀)

-I'll be putting the chapter ones of all the fanfics mentioned, to give you guys a sample if you wan't more please do go to the website and support the author! (And maybe even convince them to start uploading chapters in here as well!)

Chapter 1.1-1.9

April 19

I was born into my second life utterly confused and disoriented. The first and only constant in my earliest days was mother, who held me even though I cried far too much for a normal baby, and whispered softly to me every night as I struggled to make sense of all the conflicting thoughts and memories, her long hair falling down around me in a protective cocoon as I bawled, gleaming light turning the black to indigo.

"It's okay sweetie, it's okay, mama's here, it's okay Hiroki."

And so it was that Uchiha Hiroki came to be.

. . .

I often wondered as I grew older if my mother might not have been blessed with the gift of prophecy, for my name was spelled in a somewhat unusual manner.

Searching Light.

It was peculiarly fitting, for I never stopped moving once I had achieved some semblance of order in my thoughts. There was so little time, and so much to see and do.

I was an Uchiha, and thus I was cursed. Born of the line of Otsutsuki Indra, and blessed with both his eyes and his legacy of madness.

This was not necessarily the most terrible thing that could happen to one dropped into the Elemental Countries, certainly there were worse fates. I would be a strong ninja, at the very least, which was a great boon to one's chances of survival on this planet.

My earliest years were fairly sheltered and I was rarely allowed to leave the house, but our backyard was beautifully maintained by my mother, who filled it with lovely white and purple orchids. Our house was not very large, but the smaller size made it cozy and it was nicely shaded by the Hashirama trees whose broad green leaves cast dappled shadows over my infant flailings in the strong summer sun, and in the fall turned orange and helped the oncoming dusk change the windows to warm fire.

Oh the trees, the glorious trees, towering against the sky, a bulwark against any threat. Not for naught were we called the Village Hidden in the Leaves, for the grand pillars of the Shodaime's bloodline were omnipresent amongst the buildings, and to a child the shade of the canopy was better than any security blanket.

There would be time later to train, time to grow. I would not slack, of course, because War might yet be looming, I could not know for sure when I was yet.

But for a time, I was content.

. . .

How foolish youth.

. . .

When I was three the Kyuubi broke free from its Seal and decimated Konoha.

Our pleasant little house was destroyed, along with much of the Uchiha quarter as my mother and I huddled in the fallout shelters under the Hokage monument, crouched in terrified silence with the rest of the civilians as titanic waves of malevolent energy reshaped the landscape.

When the dust settled we moved to a new house, in a new walled off part of the village, and there were no more cool summers and shady autumns in the lee of great trees, and there never would be again.

Dreams plagued everyone, the malefic echoes of the Bijuu given form in the sleeping mind, but mine were not of the Fox.

The trees rush past in the dim moonlight, shapes given definition by the shadows which the anemic silver luminance does not relieve so much as highlight. The inky blue of the hollows in their roots exert a sucking pressure and lend the grass between the wavering spaces the sickening green hue of an old bruise viewed through tear blurred eyes.

Feet pound in unsteady rhythm, a drumbeat of frantic flight warped to torpor slowness by the clutching shades of indistinct figures hiding behind the towering wooden columns. The ground turns under foot, traitor earth rushing up to blind, fall brought short at the last moment by shaking arms.

Sandaled feet appear ahead, soundless across the cold and barren clearing, flecks of ice spreading to leech color from the surroundings and leave them a tired clinical grey. A sudden flip and a cloaked figure looms, visage bleeding from black inscrutability into Itachi, face lined and pale and devoid of pity as his eyes expand and swirl, red on black consuming the moon to glower down on frozen limbs with baleful crimson disdain as it peeks through incongruously bright leaves. Steel flashes once more and the view topples in accompaniment to shooting pain-

I wake to clutch at the neck so recently severed with a silent scream on my lips.

. . .

A/N: So, this is the thing I have been working on for... way too long, being edited and re-edited and reviewed and modified and... bleh. I am basically satisfied with it now though, and if I don't put it out there I'll eventually edit it to death, so. Anyway, fair warning, this fic is going to be more than just a little bit dark, but hopefully not straight up grimdark. This is a story of poor decisions and unlucky outcomes. Be ye warned.

I strongly recommend you read this fic on Spacebattles, its first and truest home, where you can also find alt-endings, omake, and fan-art as well as all sorts of other little wonderful tidbits.

Chapter 1.2

Feb 2, 1 AK

I gazed flatly at the faded brown wood of the training log buried standing upright in the backyard of the new house in the Uchiha compound and fingered the pouch hanging from my shorts absently. The early spring wind whistled gently around the edges of the building and sent a tiny chill up my spine even in the late afternoon even as it rustled the feeble green pushing up amongst the dead patches of the poorly tended lawn.

Hold the kunai parallel to palm, bring hand back to opposite shoulder, flick arm forward, use wrist to aim following smooth arc, release kunai while tip is pointing at target. Repeat until too dark to see.

Mother was somewhat reluctant to give me detailed instruction in the ninja arts so young but there was no more time to be content, only time to survive. Her few tips on form and technique formed the basis for my new existence and practice consumed every waking moment not devoted to bodily maintenance. I had little natural aptitude for the ninja arts, so I made up for it with repetition.

Breath in, curl fist with thumb out from core, fist held slightly above waist height, push out while twisting arm till palm is parallel with the ground, extend the punch through the target, finish breathing out. Retract fist one while mirroring with fist two. Repeat until bleeding.

I was on a time limit, a hard one. I had seven years, and if I was not strong, if I was not competent, if I could not prove my value, then I would die with the rest of my clan. Just two years younger than Itachi, and I was already doomed.

Breath deep, keep shoulders back, keep eyes on the road ahead and off feet, maintain an even stride length, take small sips of water. Repeat until unconscious.

Tick tock, goes the clock, now we all must die.

Certainly my father would perish. He was very proper, Uchiha Genryusai, very much a model Uchiha. Not a bad man, not at all, though I did not see him quite enough to form a solid opinion of him. He was a tokubetsu Jounin, though from what I understood not actually an exceptional one. He only managed tokubetsu because of his proficiency with Genjutsu, and he only possessed that because of the Sharingan. Mediocre chakra reserves, and no notable traits besides his eyes.

My mother was, as I said, my rock. Uchiha Yuki had retired at the rank of Chunin to breed up the next generation, as is proper for Uchiha ladies who have awoken their Sharingan, and she helped me greatly during the earliest years of training.

"No, Hiroki, like this, keep your elbow in tight while you punch. If you push out too much you lose power. Okay?"

"Yes mother. Like this?"

My knuckles thunked heavily into the wood. I ignored the slight sting and looked back to mother for correction, my eyes wide and observant as I searched for motions approval in the shifting folds of her lavender kimono.

"Good. Like that. But don't push yourself too hard, I don't want you coming home with bloody hands again."

I smiled faintly at her and she returned the gesture with a smile of her own, the tilt of her head allowing her hair to send long shadows over her face, giving the alabaster skin a somber caste. We both knew it was vain to hope that I would stop before injury.

The one arguable downside to spending so much time at home was the reputation I built among the other Uchiha children. Momma's boy, Training freak, Weirdo. Fortunately their attempts at interaction were minimal so I was spared much in the way of teasing.

"Hey, you wanna play ninja with us?"

The boy in dark blue clothes was met with only a blank black stare from my position beneath a tree in one of the compound's smaller parks, eyes grown accustomed to the undistracting pink of my own hands forced to blink as they reset. It was a more or less pleasant spot to train my chakra for most of the year due to the slightly clammy sage-green shade of the trees. Provided I wasn't being bothered by toddlers. His companion tugged on his sleeve, pulling him away from my spot.

"Not him; Hiroki's a weirdo. Let's ask Satsuki."

The trio of raven haired children ran past me as I continued to sit in a lotus position, feeling out my chakra system. I didn't have any friends inside my clan, or to be honest, outside it either. Why bother getting chummy with pre-corpses?

The only member of my very extended family that deserved, or indeed received, any of my respect and attention was my mother.

"Where did you want the folded clothes?"

She glanced up from the dishes in the sink with a little surprise, pushing back a few stray locks of hair with the back of a soapy hand cleaned in the next moment on her sky blue apron inscribed with the Uchiha fan.

"Oh! Did you empty the drier? Sweetie, you didn't have to do that, I can take care of it."

I blinked up at her over the stack of neatly folded clothes, the basket stuffed with clean shirts in the clan's favored blue and black in a pile almost taller than I was.

"I don't mind. I'm too tired to practice today, so I thought I could help you."

Her smile sent a thrill of warm pleasure through me, even tinged as it was with an expression of chastisement at my tacit admission of overwork.

"You can put it at the foot of my futon, okay? Thank you, Hiroki."

I tried in all things to be respectful of her wishes, though I could not quite be everything she wanted for doing so would have meant far less time to train. Still, aside from the disagreement over training, I was a model child. Quiet, polite, helpful. Whenever I was too sore to train for another day I would spend time with her, helping to cook, or asking her to read me stories; anything to brighten her day.

Much as I loathed it, I could not save her. She was loyal to her husband, and therefore the clan, and so she would die. Still I clung to her while I could, and tried to ensure that her experience of motherhood was a good one. She would be gone all too soon.

. . .

It was surreal, seeing all these people and knowing that soon they would be dust and memory. The Uchiha cremated their dead, and it became hard for me to not smell smoke when I looked at the black haired figures passing me on the street, and the taste of ash was ever present on my tongue on the rare occasions I spoke to them.

I could never eat more than a few bites in the presence of my extended family without throwing up. It happened often enough that they took me to the doctor, who of course could find nothing wrong. How could I tell them, how could I explain, that I couldn't look at black hair, black eyes, and pale skin without food turning to so much charred flesh in my mouth?

Combined with my obsessive training, my antisocial behaviour was noted as worrisome, but not counterproductive, by the older members of the clan. The Uchiha prized strength above everything, and if nothing else, in this way I was similar to my new family for strength was what I sought above all.

Every thudding strike against the training post or pounding footstep on the jogging path was a beat of the mantra in my head and heart, and every scrape and bloody bandage proof of my commitment to survival.

I must be strong.

If I am not strong, I will die.

Strength opens doors.

These doors will let me escape.

No pit is too deep to sink to.

No mountain is too high to climb.

Anything that I can do, I must do.

Strength is the reward for my effort.

With strength, I can be free from fear.

I must be strong.

I was so afraid.

. . .

A/N: Don't worry about the timeline too much; if it matters when something happens relative to another thing the segment will start with the date.

Chapter 1.3

I fingered the high collar of the blue t-shirt mother had bought for me with a blank expression of contemplation, digits sliding over the embroidered uchiwa to pick nervously at individual stitches.

The high collar was traditional amongst the Uchiha, or possibly merely fashionable; I wasn't sure and didn't care to investigate further. At any rate, it was a strong identifier of outsider status for none of the children in the village proper wore such things. Without the distinctive clothing I could almost pass for a civilian. The Uchiha were a little bit paler than average, but the general stock of the elemental countries, despite outliers like Naruto, was stereotypical asian: black or dark brown hair and black or dark brown eyes.

Ninjas threw a huge wrench in that with their weird bloodlines, like the Yamanaka's pupil-less eyes, but they were the minority. The super majority of humans were fairly average in appearance, and I was within one standard deviation of that norm being a relatively banal specimen of the Uchiha's black on pale on black.

...Save for the shirt. An affectation. An inconvenience. A mark of otherness which set me apart from the rest of Konoha and the other shinobi.

That just wouldn't do.

I reached into my pouch for a kunai and made a few, small, careful cuts; nothing blatant as sabotage or intentional damage, all the sort of marks which could be written off as training wear, but which would eventually accumulate on the shirt until it fell apart and needed to be replaced. A careful pricking of some of the seams, a little tear on the hem, and the garment would die a messy death, opening the way for replacements.

If I wanted to set myself apart from the rest of the pre-corpses in my clan, I would need to dress the part. It would take a while for my requests for grey long sleeves with normal collars to be met, but I could afford to wait, for this.

. . .

November 24, 3 AK

It was a difficult problem, managing my time. I was sitting again beneath my favored tree, watching the leaves changing color from faded greens to dull browns and yellows, still clinging reluctantly to the lesser trees of the Uchiha compound against the backdrop of autumn blue sky dulled by intermittent wisps of off white cloud. I only had a moment to take a break between exercises and catch my breath, but even that time was invested in planning my next move.

What was more important? Should I run another lap of the training field? Some pushups maybe?

My gaze lingered for a moment at the fallen leaves swirling in the wind and my shoulders twinged sympathetically at the chill; perhaps I should practice more with my chakra today and allow my muscles to rest.

I had no time, no time for uncertainty or experimentation. I had to make do with off the cuff estimates and back-of-the-napkin calculations on how to invest the ever dwindling number of seconds I had at my disposal. I couldn't afford the time to find optimal strategies for improvement, and I couldn't afford not to be optimal.

I scratched nervously at the back of my hand hard enough to break the skin, tiny beads of bright carmine welling up from the excessive force. I licked up the seeping blood absently, taste of copper sitting in my mouth thick as syrup, sticking to my teeth and lingering on my breath, a tangible reminder of my own transient nature, no more real than the shadows cast by the early morning sun.

Run, punch, focus, fingers, speed, stamina, chakra, jutsu, again, again, again-

My mind floated away from my body as I rose and set to sprinting along the dusty track, course momentarily decided upon.

Every second was precious, every moment another step up the infinite ladder of power, the ladder I needed to climb as quickly as I could. I could not allow missteps; a single serious injury or dead end training routine could be the final nail in my coffin, the unrecoverable opportunity gone forever.

The same questions, over and over.

Should I be fast and light? Should I be slow and durable? Should I be clever and twisty?

What would Itachi think most useful? What would help me get stronger faster? What would convince the village I should be excluded from the purge?

I couldn't ask anyone for advice; I was rarely allowed to wander on my own outside the compound and the libraries were only open to Genin and above, and contained scarcely anything besides when paranoid ninja hoarded their knowledge for their students and family. None of the Uchiha would understand, for they would see the desire for power and try to shape me to be like them, a course which would merely seal my doom faster.

I would smile and nod along with the rest of the Uchiha children in the classes which taught us reading and writing and basic math, allowing the subtler lessons of Uchiha superiority to trickle away unheeded. There was no help to be had there.

The wind in the trees became the whisper of sand, running through the glass, each grain lost forever. A million chances, and I could only take a few.

I needed more.

. . .

March 28, 4 AK

"He's only six years old."

"Almost seven. He'll be seven by the beginning of the semester. Itachi joined the academy at six. He graduated in only a year and now he's on track to become a Chunin!"

"Itachi is a prodigy; Hiroki is quick but he isn't-"

"Bah! Hiroki is strong enough. You molly coddle him too much. At least he takes his training seriously!"

"Too seriously Genryusai. You aren't here; You don't see him coming home dripping blood after beating himself raw on the training posts 6 nights a week!"

"Do you think keeping him out of the academy will help? Do you think he'll stop beating himself bloody if we keep him out for longer? You can't stop him Yuki, he's going to be a ninja regardless of what you or I want."

I tapped a foot gently on the darkly varnished wooden floor and the conversation cut off. My father pulled the faintly glowing eggshell screen open and looked down at me with a stern and slightly disapproving gaze, tinged with a light dusting of paternal concern. I blinked up at him placidly for a second then ducked under the hanging sleeve of his midnight blue kimono and climbed into my mother's lap, head nestling in the folds of her pale lavender house robe.

"I want to enter the academy. I need to be stronger. To make you proud of me. To be an example to the village of the value of the Uchiha. I haven't even unlocked my Sharingan yet."

My voice quavered with emotion and my eyes focused on the stark white and red fan of the clan crest on the wall. My parents probably interpreted the tremble as shame, my mother hugging me closer in comfort, but it was only fear. I couldn't possibly stand against Itachi without awakened eyes, not if I trained a hundred years. Even then it was a longshot, at best.

My father spoke as if it was no great gap, but Itachi was a prodigy. I had watched him train more than once over the years and he was flawless. His form was perfect, his skill with our Bloodline was unparalleled, and his chakra reserves were already well developed for a child his age. I needed to press harder if I was to even stay in his shadow, and the academy would give me a chance to do so. More importantly, it would give me the opportunity to get a Jounin sensei, and the significant boost in strength that was synonymous with such an arrangement.

I would join the academy, and become strong.

Strength is Life. Weakness is Death.

. . .

A/N: italics may be lost in the transition. let me know if you spot any errors in the posts, dropped letters or words or whatever.

Chapter 1.4

November 14, 4 AK

I hit the training post hard enough that the slightly grimy wood creaked, leaving a bloody imprint of my knuckles behind to further encrust the aged log.

'Average, maybe a bit better.'

The fucking Chunin instructor, just casually consigning me to death, to a faceless grave, forgotten before I had even made a proper name for myself, as if Sasuke would care about some random second cousin once removed, as if Itachi and Obito would even know my fucking face. Just another name on the memorial or whatever they decided to put up to commemorate the fall of the Uchiha. Spat upon by the village most likely, the little kanji scratchings covered by moss and dust and faded to nothing in a decade, at best.

All because some noname academy teacher thought I wasn't impressive enough?!

FUCK THAT.

I wouldn't let some nobody, some cannon fodder, some dropout no-talent hack tell me to calmly accept death because I was 'still growing'. I didn't have time to grow, I needed to be strong now!

A rush of chakra to my fist sent cracks through the log, a few flakes of old effort fluttering off in a tepid greyish cloud.

Cracks. Just cracks. Not shattering it into a thousand tiny pieces, not making it explode in a puff of dust, not… not good enough. Not good enough to live.

I sank to my knees and began to shake with silent, panicked sobs. My chest heaved but no sound escaped as tears dropped from my face onto the hard packed earth of the training field, moisture briefly darkening the dusty brown earth before fading away into nothing, just like I would.

A soft sound from behind me, a shinobi being polite. I stood, not quite as fluidly as I would have liked, and wiped at my eyes before turning to greet the interloper.

My breath caught in my throat, my blood turned to ice, and I froze in utter terror.

Itachi.

The cold hand of inevitable fate settled around my shoulders like a cloak and its silken voice whispered sweetly in my ear as I lost myself in the depths of midnight held in his gaze.

Look, here he is, your death incarnate. Will it be quick? A stiletto through the eye, a yanking snap of the neck, and then fade to black? Will it be slow? A sword across the gut, your organs on display, so you can watch your insides fall out and scream your last breath, trying to clutch your intestines in with the scent of shit filling your nose? Will it hurt? A long, slow bleed, out in the forest as you crawl away like an animal? Will it HURT?

My eyes burned and everything became so clear.

My executioner raised an elegant eyebrow, face set in a polite and expressionless mask of nobility.

"I had not heard that you had awakened your Sharingan, Hiroki-san."

I smiled mechanically, jerkily, and nodded my head.

He must not know, He must not see, I must not fear, fear is the mindkiller-

"It was very recent Itachi-sama."

His brows pinched infinitesimally at the honorific and I visibly flinched, breath growing slightly more rapid. His expression smoothed once more to placid unreadability and I had to fight the urge to begin scratching at my hands from nerves.

My eyes stopped burning and clarity left the world as I forced down the instinctive threat response sending chakra to my eyes. I forced a modest laugh, bandaged and bloody hand rubbing the back of my head in feigned embarrassment as I scuffed at the ground with a black sandaled foot.

"Sorry, I only meant- that is- you startled me."

He hummed in acknowledgment and cocked his head ever so slightly. Stupid, stupid, stupid, can't act like a normal to literally save your life-

"I startled you bad enough to awaken your Sharingan?"

I froze again, like every little white rabbit that ever tried to hide from the hawk, please don't look here, look somewhere else, there's nothing here, I am nothing, I want to live, please, please, please-

"I- I didn't mean, you're just, uh, my Idol, Itachi-sama. You're so strong, you- you're just- better."

I clamped onto my wrist with an abnormally steady hand to stop it twitching and desperately tried to keep my gaze steady, but unable to stop it from darting anywhere but on Itachi, searching for escape routes. There was no escape, there was never any escape, I was too weak, too pathetic, too slow, too dumb-

"I have always held you as the epitome of what it means to be a shinobi of the Leaf; I have been trying to match your achievements, but I fear that I lack your natural aptitude."

Because I wasn't born with some bullshit reincarnation destiny, and you were, and you're going to kill me because I didn't win the fucking lottery-

"I was somewhat… discomfited by my mid-semester performance evaluation at the academy however; it seems likely I will not be able to graduate in only a year. Then seeing you… I apologize most sincerely."

I knelt my head into a steep bow and my whole body clenched to avoid trembling. Would he buy it? Would he see through the half-truth? Would he just decide to get this one out of the way early, a quick stab to the base of the skull, unfortunate training accident, so sad, prime of his life, oh well, move along-

Sandaled feet appeared before me, long shadow consuming the multitude of fine variations in color as it spread across the ground.

I couldn't breathe around the tightness in my throat, and my eyes began to swim once more with tears, it wasn't fair, why did I have to die, I workedso hard-

"I am sorry to hear that. I have seen how much effort you put into training. I am sure you will do the clan proud."

My head jerked from side to side in negative, motion stiff and forced, he would see through it, he would know, say something,say something-

"The clan can take care of itself. My first duty is to the village."

Silence. Just like everything Itachi did, he was completely devoid of presence whenever he didn't want to be noticed. He was a ghost, no more substance than a mirage, and just as cruel to travelers in the desert. I couldn't even hear him breathing, and the only sound in the training field was the faintest rustle of wind in the trees and the pounding of my heart in my ears.

"...Indeed."

And the feet turned away, the shadow retreated, the hawk flew on, behold: the rabbit lives for another day.

The gentle padding of Itachi's retreat filled me with such palpable relief that I nearly threw up, falling to my knees as my legs turned to rubber in the shuddering wake of adrenalin. I held it in, swallowing the bile back down and only straightening after I had finally caught up to my racing breath, the restrained trembling back full force as my fingers twitched spasmodically as they clawed at the dark soil of the training ground.

When at last I was able to stand straight I turned back to the post and set to with an energy renewed by the burning throb of panic in my skull, the desperate beat of the fleeing rabbit's tread mirrored in the hammering of my frenzied heart.

I will not die. I must be strong.

. . .

The sunset that night was beautiful, and the leaves of the trees became fire as the lingering yellow rays of light streamed through them. Fear of Death is the Spice of Life. Who knew?

. . .

A/N: Just because a thing happened once does not mean it will happen again. One reincarnation is no gauarantee of another.

Chapter 1.5

May 13, 5 AK

I could hardly tear my gaze from the piercing blue sky of early summer, the world leant a dreamy neon edging by the blistering white sunlight and the haze of endorphins rushing through my head.

Marginal. My pass was marginal, but I made it, by the skin of my teeth and judicious use of my Sharingan. I was probably in the bottom ten percent of the graduating class, actually, but I did graduate, and after only one year in the academy, a fact which filled me anew with a fierce and predatory joy every time I remembered it.

I was reminded of the old joke.

What do you call a doctor that barely passed his MCATs?

A doctor.

Even with a slim pass, I still passed. I was now part of squad 19, with two older children who I had never heard of and a Jounin sensei who's name I didn't catch, floating as I was in the haze of euphoric relief at my hard won success.

I took a breath and shook my head clear of distracting emotions, refocusing on the present and my team.

No. I mustn't think of them like that, as faceless no ones. They need to matter to me. I need to love them. And then, they needed to die. KIA, of course, for Itachi would never forgive such betrayal of the Will of Fire. Just… well. It happened. The mortality rates for newly minted Genin were atrocious, even in peacetime. I didn't need to do anything precipitous, just let nature run its course. But it had to hurt, to awaken the Mangekyou, which meant I needed to care for them. And the first step to that was getting them to like me.

Curse you shortsighted antisocial tendencies! What do children even do when they aren't training?

"Hi, uh, sorry, I was kind of distracted when they were doing team assignments. I'm Hiroki, Uchiha Hiroki, it's nice to meet you. What are your names?"

The girl gives me a slightly put upon look as if I'm already intentionally trying to drag her down with my youth and short stature, the wild spikes of her auburn hair bristling from her hooded leather jacket as her head jerks slightly in acknowledgement, and her frown pulling at the small clan markings on her cheeks and setting her yellowed eyes to glinting.

"Inuzuka Nikkei. This is my ninken Kenji."

The small brown dog gives a yip of hello. The other boy on the team just looks a little bit sleepy, well tanned face relaxed and eyelids half closed over pale green orbs, but he gives me a small wave of acknowledgment, the motion barely shifting the longsleeved amber shirt he wore over cornflower blue pants.

"Yo. I'm Shimura Wasabi. Sup?"

I carefully school my expression to avoid blinking in surprise at the name. I had known intellectually Danzo must have had a clan, but I hadn't expected to meet any of them, and certainly not anticipated being on the same squad as one. I smiled politely back towards the shaven headed boy, making sure to crinkle the corner of my eyes so it looked natural, covering the momentary lull in conversation with a little cough.

"Ahh, any relation to Shimura Danzo perchance? Advisor to the Sandaime?"

Wasabi raised an eyebrow at the name drop but nodded a positive.

"Yeah; my uncle's cousin or something like that. Don't see him much of course, he's a busy guy."

I nod pleasantly, my hair shifting slightly from the unexpected weight of my brand new forehead protector.

"I can imagine. It is much the same in my family; father is a tokubetsu Jounin and since he has the Sharingan he spends a lot of time outside of the village."

Nikkei sniffs irritably, leaning back a bit in her chair to look down her nose at me.

"My dad's a full Jounin. Front line combat, one of the strongest ninken partnerships in a century!"

I blinked, slightly taken aback by her aggressive posture, but I make a recovery soon enough, offering up another slightly bland smile.

"Oh wow! That's impressive! I hope I get to meet him one day, he's sounds really cool. I wish I had a partner I could rely on like that!"

My kunoichi teammate smirked quizzically at me in slightly nonplussed condescension but seemed pleased at my flattery regardless, even though she clearly expected more arrogance from an Uchiha. Wasabi gave her an unimpressed look, but before the laconic boy could say anything to disturb her I asked him another question.

"What about you Wasabi-san? Does your clan have any cool techniques?"

People always like to talk about themselves, it's a near universal failing of humans. Even people who describe themselves as shy or introverted like talking about themselves for you are always the most important thing as far as your brain is concerned.

My teammate proves this by sitting up a little and smiling a bit at my show of interest.

"Oh, yeah. It's not a Bloodline or anything, but the Shimura hold the summoning contract of the Tapir Clan, and we're all really good at nature transformations. Check it out!"

He concentrated on a kunai pulled from a pocket, and after a moment it began to waver with faint heat lines. I whistled appreciatively, and even Nikkei seemed reluctantly impressed. It was a pretty decent feat for a rookie Genin, at least one who wasn't named Itachi or Kakashi.

We ended up waiting for a fairly long while for our sensei to arrive, and I tried to keep up a low level of small talk and mild flattery in the hopes of building up a little team spirit. We'd have to be extraordinarily unlucky to get somebody touting around an exam as difficult for a new team as the bell test was, but there was almost certainly going to be some form of examination from our new sensei and teamwork was a major virtue in Konoha; it couldn't hurt to start generating an air of camaraderie.

When the door finally opened, I was actually in a pretty good mood, despite myself. Wasabi had a very dry sense of humor, and liked slipping in a bit of innuendo to see Nikkei flush. She of course denied that he was making her uncomfortable, but her blazing blush said otherwise. I looked up to see who had entered and my smile became formaldehyde quality fixed as I took in the gravity defying mop of hair and slanted forehead protector.

Kakashi blinked at us placidly.

"My first impression of you guys… idiots."

. . .

As I followed my teammates and sensei to the roof my smile remained as genuine as I could fake, which was pretty genuine indeed, but inside my head was spinning and my feet felt like lead weights as they tread on the cement steps.

Did the universe actually want me to die? It had always seemed like hyperbole, a lie to keep me motivated, a challenge from the cosmos themselves to which I replied with a scream of defiance. But this…

Was I in hell? Or maybe purgatory? Being punished for the sins of a past life? To have almost-chances dangled before me, only to be tugged away at the last moment; It seemed unreasonably cruel to go about it in this way. I loved my mother, and she was going to die. What had she ever done? Why? Just… why?

This was not the Kakashi of Naruto's time. This was not the Kakashi who had more than a decade of life in ANBU to work through the pain of losing his sensei and surrogate family. It was even odds we were the first Genin team he was going to evaluate, fair chance that the mere sight of fresh faced kids filled him with disgust and self-loathing. His face was blank, but was that a trace of hostility I saw? I couldn't quite stop my cheek from twitching as I carefully maintained the cheerful and attentive facade.

I would fail the bell test. The only teams that passed did so on luck; it was an idiotic testing method for children who had never met each other before and had no hardening against psychological warfare. I would fail, and then I would die. Genin who failed their sensei's exam faced one of two options: either bounced back to the academy for another year, or joining the Genin pool. The pool was a dead end; without proper training from an experienced ninja scraping a promotion to Chunin would take years, at best. The academy wouldn't work either, I didn't have time to waste in that den of mediocrity for another year.

I felt a sort of surreal calm settle on me as the pristine white clouds drifted overhead. This was it then. I was going to die because of… heh, luck of the draw. Once more. It sort of lent credence to the theory that this was hell: there were so many things that might have gone differently that would have made life easier. If I was a year older I wouldn't have to worry as much. If I was a year younger, I could maybe beg for mercy, or at least live knowing that it was utterly futile to even try. Save myself the effort of working my fingers to the bone on the training posts almost every night for five years straight.

Hatake gave his non introduction, and the muscles of my jaw tightened imperceptibly.

No.

I hadn't worked this long and this hard just so this angsty asshole could give me yet another death sentence. I hadn't let that fucking Chunin instructor kill me with his 'average' evaluation; I would be damned if this social cripple did it with his indifference.

He must have heard my teeth grinding, for his attention fell on me; half lidded, bored gaze definitely becoming a trifle cool as he looked me over.

"Why don't we start with you Smiles?"

My face stretched wider in reflexive response, before I experienced a frozen moment of panic. What should I say?

"Hey there! My name's Uchiha Hiroki. I like…" my mother, no, don't say that, idiot, "trees!" Nice. Moron. " ...and dango!"

There, that was normal enough.

"I dislike people who betray their friends."

Okay, weird looks, might be coming on a bit too heavy there.

"My hobbies are training and… um... cat, watching?"

Skeptical looks from the Inuzuka and Dog summoner. Brilliant fucking job.

"My dream for the future is to survive to my twelfth birthday and to be an asset for the village!"

Fuck it, might as well go all in. Cue vaguely disturbed looks from my fellow Genin and the continuation of the flat, apathetic stare from my Jounin sensei.

Kakashi blinked languidly.

"...Uh huh. Alrighty then, Mutt, how bout you?"

I shivered slightly at the sudden release of tension as we shifted our collective attention onto what Nikkei had to say. That was awful. Worse, it was counterproductive to survival.

Pity was the death of cooperation. If my teammates thought I was too weak they would never play out the bell test as it had to be done, they wouldn't want me to pass, 'for my own good'. Intolerable. I had to act fast.

When Kakashi left us with the admonition to not eat breakfast before the test tommorow I immediately turned to my two teammates.

"Hey, how's about we get a little practice in before we all head home? I know he said we should rest up for tomorrow, but a little spar to keep our skills sharp can't hurt, right? And it'll help us get a better sense of how each of us can fit in on the team. Even if we haven't passed the test yet, we can still see if we work out together."

Wasabi yawned hugely.

"I think I'll pass."

My smile became slightly brittle.

"Ah, come on, what, scared to get beaten by an eight year old?"

I put a bit of laugh into it to keep the tone light. Too light, apparently.

"Oh you know it. I wouldn't want to be so shamed in front of a pretty lady like Nikkei-chan."

He hopped off the roof and began making his way off across the rooftops of the village. I felt my last ergs of hope trickling away but I turned to Nikkei anyway, an inquisitive, hopeful expression on my face.

"Nah, I got some stuff to do. Want to be really prepared for whatever Hatake-sensei has planned for us. You should probably go home too, you've been twitchy all day. An early night will do you good, shortstuff."

My smile remained fixed on my face as my last ditch attempt at survival fled into the late afternoon, the expression growing ever harsher as the light began to fade, distended shadows throwing my features into jagged relief.

Fine. If they wouldn't help me, I'd just have to help them even harder to make up for it.

. . .

"Hey guys! I made bentos, in case things end up going a little late. I brought some little snacks too; I asked my mom and she pointed out that technically we just don't want to overeat before a heavy workout, but having something light in your stomach can help keep you going."

Nikkei blinked at me in surprise as I presented the garishly wrapped orange and yellow packages, but Wasabi nodded appreciatively.

"Cool. I thought the same way, actually; I had a few pieces of fruit for breakfast."

I gave him a big smile and turned to Nikkei with a slightly hopeful look, a protein bar extended. She huffed in irritation but grabbed the snack from me anyway, ripping into it aggressively.

"Disobeying orders already?"

Fuck. He wasn't supposed to be here for at least another hour. Big smiles.

"Well Hatake-sensei, you didn't order us not to eat, you just advised we'd probably throw up if we did. I assume this was part of the assessment as we'd only throw up if we ate improperly, not if we ate at all."

A flat stare, single grey eye blinking slowly in the exposed wedge of skin.

"Hmm. Well. I suppose we might as well get started then."

Two bells. Two winners. One loser. I saw Nikkei and Wasabi give me sidelong looks, but I kept smiling, crinkled eyes and all. Kakashi didn't seem to buy it. There were faint lines under his visible eye that spoke of long nights and hard choices, the green of his flak jacket scuffed and worn from heavy use, and I could once more feel the creeping sensation of death getting closer.

My smile just grew more teeth.

The team split the moment he said go, and I made an effort to be as quiet as possible approaching Nikkei where she was hid in the brush.

"Pst! Hey, I think this might be a trick. You ever hear about two person Genin teams?"

She scowled at me and made little shooing motions.

"Jounin's rules. Besides, he might be planning on taking the winners as apprentices."

I gave her a skeptical look in return.

"Two at once? Aren't apprenticeships usually on an individual basis?"

"You two talk too much."

I activated a Replacement, but there was a fist already in position at my arrival point. Only a flicker of Sharingan saved me from a blow which would have knocked the wind out of me; as it was I barely managed to get my arms up in time to absorb some of the hit. I would likely have my share of bruises in the morning.

I gave Kakashi my flattest smile as I massaged the backs of my forearms, basically just showing him teeth. He's a dog, he'll figure it out.

"You're a Jounin, sensei, if you can't detect our chakra signatures from a hundred meters, I'll eat my forehead protector. I certainly don't know how to hide my chakra, and I don't think my teammates do either. So stealth is irrelevant unless you deliberately handicap yourself. A proposition which seems unlikely, as you instructed us to come at you with intent to kill."

Another flat stare. This is not good. I'm not sure what's real, what I'm misreading, what I'm projecting, and what is merely comparison to a half-remembered future. Kakashi used to be lazy, not indifferent, an affectation of unconcern over a core of warm affability. The Kakashi of Team Seven was a little silly, a little carefree, a little more… secure. This Kakashi is…

I don't know.

I know in canon this team didn't pass. That begs the question of why Team Seven did pass. They barely showed any teamwork. Nepotism? Firm instruction from the Hokage? A sense of camaraderie with that particular team: elite loner, ditzy girl, struggling deadlast that wants to be Hokage? Was success even possible here, or was his judgment already passed, the weight of memory still too heavy on his shoulders for a new team?

I hadn't been idle while I pondered. I had gotten in a few good… attempted hits with Nikkei and Wasabi. But not both of them together. They seemed to believe, probably correctly, that their victory against me was assured, however that just meant they were in competition with each other and I was only able to help one of them out at a time, alternating between them as best I could to help make openings and exploit their suicidal charges.

I caught my breath for a second near the edge of the clearing as I quickly scanned the treeline for my teammates, shoving aside the growing ache of chakra exhaustion. Wasabi was going to try another futile trap; useless, as fire element charged kunai aren't any faster or less subtle than the ordinary sort. Nikkei was being overly direct again; she trusted her ninken, but the Inuzuka learn pair tactics first, not groups. She overextended in her strike and another heavy sweeping kick was coming towards her back; she couldn't really weather another bad hit like that.

The Substitution was sloppy, spur of the moment, and left me disoriented for long enough that I didn't block the kick meant for Nikkei. I slammed into a tree on the side of the field hard enough I could feel my ribs creak and my breath was forced out in a woosh carrying with it a spray of blood from my busted lips.

The buzzer rang.

Kakashi stared at me for a long moment as I tried to get my breath back.

"Disappointing."

. . .

I ended up tied to the stump, but honestly I needed it. I didn't trust myself to stay upright without the ropes.

"You better not share any of your food with Hiroki, he's being punished for being so reckless."

Kakashi disappeared in a swirl of leaves, and the soon to be stillborn Squad 19 was left alone on the quiet training ground.

I stared vacantly at the obsidian memorial stone across the field, brain ticking over without direction.

At least my name would be recorded there, probably. I wasn't a hundred percent on what the protocol was for ninja who died in the line of duty, but in their civilian capacity. Maybe. Probably not. It probably wouldn't hurt too much, Itachi was very skilled, very fast; I'd never even notice the blow coming at this skill level, just walking along one day and…

I blinked and the sound of someone talking to me finally registered.

"Why did you do that?! I could have handled it! You're just a kid, you got really hurt!"

I sighed apathetically and let my head thunk against the training post, eyes pointed at the yelling Inuzuka but unfocused.

"And? Age is irrelevant, only skill matters. I'm the least skilled member of the team. I should always be first in the line of fire to protect you and Wasabi."

The aforementioned boy grimaced as his name came up, mouth pulling down at the corners in sour disagreement.

"Don't be stupid. You're eight, you graduated four years early, you're a prodigy."

I shook my head slowly, eyes still focused on the future and the swirling red and black that would herald the end of Hiroki. My reply was monotone.

"No. I checked the exam results. I scored in the bottom 5 for our class. Yeah, I graduated, but my overall skill level is lower than either of yours. That's how they balance the teams: Rookie of the year, Kunoichi of the year, Deadlast. Me. Graduating early means you are skilled for your age, not that your absolute ability is actually notable when compared to others."

"Shut up!"

I didn't respond as Nikkei got up in my face, the sound of screams echoing in my ears as I turned my thoughts on mother, her face covered in blood and eyes blank pits. Dead. All dead, futile effort, spitting into the wind...

"That's not true and you know it! You graduated before most kids even start playing with kunai, you deserve that headband! When sensei gets back we'll get that stupid bell!"

The bento was thrust into my face and I blinked uncomprehendingly at it. She jiggled it imperatively at me as I continued to stare apathetically at the steaming rice. Wasabi scowled and moved up to offer me some of his as well, spearing a dumpling on a chopstick and pushing it towards my face.

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

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

"You'll get in trouble."

Nikkei snorted contemptuously, head flicking to the side.

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

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

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

"You pass."

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

. . .

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

Chapter 1.6

July 6, 5 AK

Every moment is precious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . .

We fall into our roles easily enough.

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

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

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

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

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

"Your arms are too short."

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

"Is that something I could compensate for?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can I try?"

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

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

Block, dodge, slash, deflect, and stab-

"No."

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

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

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

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

I smile blandly at her.

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

The team Kunoichi grumbles in confusion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Practice makes perfect, not a fancy bloodline."

And so we practice. We practice a lot.

. . .

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

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

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

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

Itachi is harmless, until he is not.

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

"Sure, why not?"

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

"It wouldn't be a problem, right?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scratch that, I know exactly what would happen.

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

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

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

"So, how are you liking D-ranks?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kakashi nods approvingly, face solemn.

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

. . .

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

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

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

Everything in order.

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

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

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

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

"Why do you always take everything so seriously?"

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

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

Bandages, antiseptic, staples, tape, styptic-

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why must you hurt me this way sensei?"

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

"It's my job."

. . .

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

. . .

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

Chapter 1.7

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

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

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

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

"You smell funny!"

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey! Don't ignore me!"

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

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

"Hey!"

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

Wait… is that… Hana? Bugger.

"Kiba! Who's this? He bothering you?"

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

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

"Oy! Eyes off my little bro!"

I blink and perception fades.

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

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

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

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

"Hey Hana!"

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

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

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

"You okay?"

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

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

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

"Thanks for the save."

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

"What are friends for?"

...friends?

. . .

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

Chapter 1.8

March 11, 6 AK

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

Was that it?

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

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

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

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

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

"Hiroki."

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

"Yes, sensei?"

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

"Are you alright?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I was following orders."

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes…?"

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

I shake my head in negation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hiroki, you're doing it again."

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

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

"Well at least you aren't loud."

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

"Hiroki? Is that you?"

"Hey mom."

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

"How's my little ninja?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, you won't.

. . .

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

Chapter 1.9

Feb 22, 7 AK

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

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

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

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

I will not die. I must be strong.

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

"Each unit will be given a token!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, don't think that way.

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

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

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

"Anyone nearby?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Here."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Squad 19 of Konoha, disqualified."

. . .

I do not take failure well.

. . .

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