CH_4.26 (126)

CH_4.26 (126)

———

.

So much had happened in her life that one-and-a-half years seemed like they had passed in the blink of an eye, yet the time before seemed ages ago. She held her time in the academy in fond regard— it was a carefree, peaceful time, before she knew what it truly meant to be a shinobi. If she was being honest, she still didn't know what it meant to be a shinobi. At least, that's what her teacher kept saying to her. It was quite irritating, to be honest.

Anyway, look at her, being swept away by the memories.

Speaking of memories. She remembered Takuma. He was a quiet boy in her class, didn't speak to anyone, always minding his own business, or was it that he had no one to talk to. What was the term for it? Socially awkward, that's it. Takuma had no friends. What he had was bullies— Hiji and his cohort had taken him as his target. To this date, she couldn't figure out how that was a fun thing to do. She read it was something about the feeling of power over someone else.

She pitied him. She even tried to help him, but when he didn't seem enthusiastic about helping himself, she gave up. By their final year, she had stopped her efforts almost completely.

In hindsight, perhaps making friends with Takuma could've helped him, but she didn't go that far. Why would she?

Momoe hated him after all.

Civilian. That's what her parents were, and before she received her forehead protector, that was her identity as well.

Shinobi. That's what she was now.

Even though they occupied the same village, the two groups lived separate worlds.

Civilians lived their lives in safety, away from the violent turmoil of the world they lived in, but that safety came at the price of liberty. That didn't mean they weren't happy, but they had to sacrifice one thing to gain another— though there were those like her dad who could live without sacrificing freedom (abundant money tends to have that effect). The civilians bankrolled shinobi, and yet the latter was conceived superior.

Then there were shinobi, who treaded danger and partook in the violence they themselves created. The life of a shinobi was hazardous, death could send an invitation every day, and one could only refuse the invitation so many times. Only the truly strong had the right to continue living— but if history taught anything, even the strong succumbed before their natural end. However, that risk granted them power and authority. Evident by the fact that the village was created by a shinobi, and the head had always been a shinobi. Perhaps the people who had it best were the shinobi who didn't go to the frontlines and instead used their skills in different areas. They had a lower ceiling than the traditional shinobi, but they were safe behind the village walls— and yet they still belonged among shinobi. Of course, there were exceptions— healers, engineers, seal masters— who were looked up to by their peers due to their importance. And yet, the Hokage had always been those who displayed their strength on the battlefield.

Momoe had yet to figure out why, but she had noticed those from a long line of shinobi history didn't appreciate when an outsider entered their world. Civilian-born shinobi were the outsiders. Perhaps they didn't think that someone without the lineage and background could do the job they did as well as they did and didn't appreciate the attempt.

And in a way, Momoe could see where they came from. Since entering the academy to this day, she had noticed how civilian students always lagged behind their shinobi counterparts. It was a generalization, but there was real-life proof for it. Most of the high-ranking positions in the shinobi administration were occupied by those from shinobi clans or families, and the percentage of clan jonin dwarfed civilian-born jonin— those like the Fourth Hokage were considered anomalies. Even that was short-lived, and now, the Third Hokage was back in power.

She remembered the early years of her academy. Momoe wasn't always at the top of her class. In the early days, when she couldn't do the things she could do now, she struggled just like others. She would look at her classmates, who were better than her, and wondered how they got so much better (she didn't know the answer then.)

But if they could do it, she could do it too, Momoe thought and began practicing what was being taught in the class. Slowly but surely, she began improving— and before she knew it, Momoe was the top student of her batch. Highest theory and practical scores. If it was being taught in the academy, she could do it better than anyone else.

Along with that improvement in skill came popularity. The classmates who didn't talk to her much before became her friends. She got several of her best friends for life from her days in the academy, so she wasn't complaining. Who didn't like making friends?

But, one day, as she was visiting the faculty room to give her class instructor a letter from her parents about leaving, she heard the instructors talking about her.

'He has improved more than Hideaki?' she thought.

If before Takuma couldn't stand in a fight against Hideaki, he was now fighting him on the same level; it was either that Hideaki hadn't improved one bit, or Takuma had improved much faster than Hideaki. She knew the former wasn't true, so the latter could only be the truth.

'But how?'

Takuma dodged Hideaki's bo-staff attack by backflipping and launched a volley of shuriken simultaneously. Hideaki tried to block them with bo-staff, but some of them hit him in the shoulder and upper chest.

Hideaki grunted in anger.

Seeing the opportunity in front of him, Takuma moved in immediately and began laying down a combo barrage of perfectly placed blows onto Hideaki, who, surprisingly enough, couldn't seem to pick a chance to disengage or retaliate. There was an aggression behind his movements which Momoe couldn't put the finger on— one would expect the aggression to turn his movements crude, but Takuma showed focus through his choices. Each blow timed and placed in weak spots which hurt and hobbled. If Hideaki covered one spot, Takuma would hit another uncovered.

But then Momoe and her team saw something familiar happen. Hideaki, who was being pushed back, smashed his foot into the ground and came to a stop as though a heavy boulder. Within the next few seconds, he began matching blows with Takuma, and in the moments after, he was overpowering Takuma.

"Sensei," Aimi turned to Kazuo.

Kazuo nodded. "Hideaki, chakra augmentations aren't allowed in this—"

Before Kazuo could complete his sentence, Takuma landed a punch in Hideaki's gut which sent him flying several feet.

"— fight..."

Momoe looked at Takuma. The look on his face had changed. Before, he looked calm and collected, but now there was a fire in his eyes and a grin on his face. He looked excited, eager, enthusiastic even.

They heard him mutter, "I didn't think today would be the day I would face it for the first time. I'm glad. I am truly glad."

"... That was chakra augmentation?" muttered Momoe.

Kazuo nodded.

Momoe took a deep breath. The guy who could barely make a clone in the academy was practicing chakra augmentations now, a class of jutsu, challenging to learn and harder to master.

The punch, as strong as it was, wasn't enough to keep Hideaki down; even if he was bleeding from the cuts, Takuma had been able to get in through the gaps in the chunky armor he wore. One of the hardest things to do in the world was to put an Akimichi down. He got up, gripped his bo-staff, and charged for Takuma, who, in turn, dropped his kunai and shot forward with bare hands.

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