Chapter 7 - Reiketsu-hen

The sound of a sliding door closing echoed in the empty room, followed by bare feet tapping on the wooden floor. A warm, orange light flickered, fighting the darkness to a standstill, unveiling a rolled-up shikibuton and a bundle of items not far from it.

Approaching the shikibuton, the Japanese futon, I put the candle on the floor, then rolled out the futon. The sheets and blankets are neatly arranged and tidied perfectly, contrasting the messy state I left them this morning.

Most likely, it's my aunt's doing.

... my aunt, huh? I shook my head.

The words are as strange as 'my cousin', 'my chakra', or finding the bed arranged for me by someone else; such an affection leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

Sitting on the now unfolded shikibuton, I directed my attention to the items on the side. They were also left here by my aunt.

Four items in total: a gray backpack; two pouches, one round gray and the other a rectangular dark blue; and a black katana.

Uchiha Dai's belonging.

Resisting the urge to pounce on the katana, I begin the inspection, starting from the backpack to the two pouches.

Thereafter, I ended up with a sleeveless green jacket equipped with too many empty pockets, a black long-sleeved t-shirt, a rope, a half-used medical kit, five kunai, eight shuriken, four gray balls the size of golf balls, a neatly wrapped bundle of wire string, and money—diverse coins and banknotes, though I'm ignorant of their total value since I'm yet to become familiar with this world currency system.

I half expected to find a bottle or two of sake, but there was none. Either he didn't carry alcohol while in a fight—I doubt that, however— or my aunt and uncle removed it, which I think is a more likely possibility since there is enough space for at least three bottles within the backpack.

I will inspect them in detail at a later date. I thought as I put the items back in their original storage place and away from the bed.

Finally, as the last dish: the katana. I tried to contain the bubbling excitement but failed as a short snicker left my mouth; fortunately, Kyouka isn't here, or else she would call me creepy again.

Grabbing the katana with both hands—one on the handle and the other at the end of the black, rigid scabbard—another snicker escaped me as I felt its weight and coldness. It's not much heavy, but it isn't light for its size either. It weighs less than a kilogram and has a length of just under sixty centimeters. Its short length stems from the fact that it is, technically, a katana but a wakizashi, more precisely O-wakizashi.

Letting out a long breath, I gripped the handle firmly on my right little hand. The handle itself is approximately fifteen centimeters, big for my current immature hand but with enough space for only one adult hand. I shifted my other hand up the scabbard and settled not far from the black, circular guard.

Next, I pulled in the opposite directions, and with a Thak sound, the blade collar left the scabbard's mouth and displayed the silver, curved blade with all its splendor. A series of letters were engraved between the Hamon line and the Blood grove— the sword's name; they read: Reiketsu-hen.

"Hehehe... Hehe..he."

Strange sounds echoed in the room; my face contorted into an exciting smile, and since I'm alone in this room, I can guarantee the smile is all that is angelic and pure.

What a beauty this is.

An unexplainable urge assaulted my chest. I want to slash with it. Slashing up, slashing down. I want to cut things with it, wood and carrots. Why these two specifically? I don't know, but I want to cut something.

"No!"

Voicing my decisiveness, I shook my head, trying to disperse these thrilling feelings, but with no success. Sheathing the blade, I used the sageo, the hanging cord situated at the neck of the scabbard, to bind it around the handle, making sure it wouldn't unsheathe on its own.

Next, I swiftly slipped between the sheet and the soft blanket of the futon. I blew out the candle, and the room instantly fell into darkness. Hugging foolishly the Wakizashi, I wriggled, trying to warm up the frigid sheets.

It's dangerous to sleep with a weapon; I'm well aware of that. But it's a compromise I had to take. Either that, or waste time playing around with a sharp sword like a kid.

I need to wake up early tomorrow.

It's moments like this that I wonder if it's indeed the body influencing me or if it's just me using that as a justification to act and feel with impunity.

Closing my eyes, I raised the blanket a bit higher to cover my neck. The activities of the day ran through my mind.

The activation of the Sharingan.

It was stimulating, to say the least. Kyouka spent almost all day going over how to use its different abilities and some of her experiences with what to do and what not to do. Of course, its uses are inherent, but it hastens the process.

In short, it was a draining but also fruitful day.

The main plan excluded the use of the Sharingan altogether, an idiotic but necessary decision. The clan's Dojutsu is, after all, one of the most powerful Kekkei Genkai in this world, so the judgment of ignoring such a powerful boon was not without fault.

What influenced me to not take it into account, however, is not only the uncertainty surrounding its awakening but also the cruelly unorthodox way of evolving it.

No matter. It's all good as long as it's the Sharingan and stays just the Sharingan.

Haah, it's so complicated—this world, this situation, these feelings. I don't know what to think or how to react.

This is a show, an anime, a manga. I like it; hell, I love it. It was fun, exciting, and inspiring. It was one of the biggest motivations in my less sugary times. It's helped me move forward, not mope about myself, and not take whatever shit the world throws at me personally.

But it's fictional. Not supposed to be real. Otherwise, it's not a fun world anymore but a merciless, insane, and war-plagued one.

With death around every corner.

... and I hate death.

I rubbed my thumb on the handle of the hugged weapon, feeling the rough, hard leather skin.

I have to leave Konohagakure. That is the plan.

Not now, however; I need to milk the cow first. Learn as much as possible, train with all my fibers, and leave before the clan's massacre.

Where?

I don't know, but honestly, as long as I'm away, not just from Konohagakure, but from everywhere, there is death. And for that, I shouldn't be weak. My aversion to fighting would be put aside; I don't like that, but where is the choice? I have no doubt that, in the event I successfully fled, they will send assassins after my head, be it Danzo, Obito, or even the Hokage.

Using the tidbit of future knowledge I have is out of the question. It may be of help in some cases; I can't deny that; however, the consequence of changing the timeline isn't something I could shoulder. This is their world, their story, and Naruto is their prophesied hero.

There is danger coming, but they will solve it. From my point of view, they already have.

My existence is neither required nor welcomed.

I just have to make sure I don't screw things up during my stay here in Konoha.

A sore feeling welled up in my chest. The family of Izuna will most likely die. They were good to me... No, they were good to the one they thought was Izuna. Will they behave the same if they know the truth? That Izuna is possibly dead. And the one they welcomed into their home is an imposter. A liar donning the child's body.

How will they react?

No. No. I shook my head. It doesn't matter. I may not be able to save them, but I will cook them some cake one of these days. The ingredients of this world are exceptional, so if I add that to my not-so-bad pastry cooking skill, I will make something delicious as an apology...

Haah, who am I kidding?

My attempt at livening my thoughts was a flop; it only added distaste to my mouth.

I tossed and turned, wishing to shrug off these thoughts and for sleep to take me.

***

It should be about time.

Five minutes won't hurt, and ten would be great.

Rolling over in the warm blanket as I tried to dismiss my internal clock. The outside world is muted, and the birds haven't woken up yet. I will have at least half an hour in this comfy bed. Plus, it's freezing outside.

No, I decided it is the first day of training, and if I were to procrastinate on the first day, I wouldn't be able to build a habit. If I don't have the habit of training, I won't amount to anything and will die to some cannon fodder in some filthy, dark place.

Well, at least I would have slept enough by then, and I bet if the cannon fodder was waiting in a dark place, he would be exhausted, contrary to me, who would be full of energy. So just an hour or two of sleep is all I need to win that fight.

"...bullshit."

Flinging abruptly the blanket away from me, I shivered as the chilly air of the room nipped at my body. It's harsh, but there's nothing better than the cold to slap the mind awake.

Inhaling deeply, I stood, then started some stretching, trying to get rid of this lethargy, but to no avail.

Sleep comes to me late at night, thanks to all the incessant thoughts that didn't give me a second of respite, from one problem to another, resulting in a late and awful rest.

Putting the sword back on the pill of the Shinobi tools, I tidied up the sheets and blanket, then rolled up the shikibuton, just like I found it last night. I don't doubt that my aunt would have arranged it herself; that is why I cannot allow that. It gives me a strange feeling to have someone else do my chores.

Now don't get me wrong; I never thought of myself as a good or kind person; it's just that I don't like it.

After placing the rolled-up shikibuton to the side, out of the way, I slid the shoji open and got out of the room. Instantly, a freezing breeze hit me in the face, and my skin shivered. The sun has yet to rise, but even if it did, I doubt it could shine much light this day, thanks to the dark, angry cloud threatening to unleash a downpour at any moment.

For a moment I had the urge to turn back and continue my sleep, but I shook my head instead. I felt tired and weak, but I'm in a new world that is dangerous and exciting; that thought alone is enough to give me some fuel.

No matter if for reasons of novelty or because I value staying alive, strength is a necessity. Awakening a fully mature Sharingan was a good step, but not nearly enough to give me confidence.

I have to train, build muscles, and I need to make it a habit. Be it on a cold, rainy, or snowy day. Healthy or sick. I should never neglect my development.

This isn't a vow, but a rule. Either abide by it and potentially live or disregard it and undeniably die.