Bed of Thorns
The early morning sky settled onto their forms with a hazy blue, birds chirping like it was any other day. With each step towards the Academy, the more Umeko dragged her feet across the yellowed stone pathway. A childish urge came to her when she saw the edges of the building looming in the distance, to reach out and grasp her mother’s hand. Next to her, her mother slowed as well. Both of them were loath for their journey to end.
“Remember, Umeko, to go straight home afterward, okay?” Umeko couldn’t recall the last time she saw her mother fret like this, her hands twisting together in a knot of fingers and chipped purple nail polish. Umeko had applied the nail polish herself, the day before, begging her mother to sit still while she brushed her nails plum-purple. Umeko’s fingernails matched, but the paint hadn’t chipped on her nails and she had been very careful to avoid it.
“I know, you don’t have to be so nervous.” Umeko scoffed, trying to instill a sense of levity in her mother. When her mother looked even more nervous, Umeko tugged her hand into hers and twined them like she had a hundred times before. “Please, Mama. It’ll be fine - it’s just team assignments.”
Her mother brought their hands to her lips, kissing the back of Umeko’s hand. “I’m just worried about the team you’ll be placed on. I saw the list of jounin teachers this year and - well, I’m just worried. And you know how your grandfather can be, he might keel over and die - good riddance - if you are put on a team that will hold you back and - well - you know -”
“Mama, it’ll be fine.” Umeko tugged her hand from her mother’s, stopping at the stoop of the Academy. She had these worries as well, of course, but her mother didn’t need the added stress. “We’re here now. You should go home - to Michiyori and Momo. I will talk to you tomorrow.”
Her mother frowned at her but patted her shoulder regardless. “I’ll tell your father and brother that you said hi.”
Umeko stayed by the tree with the singular swing, her eyes following her mother’s form as she anxiously hurried down the path. Umeko huffed, once she was out of sight, and said to herself, “Tell him I said go to hell.”
She wouldn’t dare say such a thing to her mother’s face, her mother who desperately had hopes for a happy and whole family. Umeko had destroyed such a thing long ago - ate at their happiness like an ever-devouring void, and probably murdered the real Umeko when she did it.
Gathering herself, she stopped leaning on the worn and weary tree to dust her clothes off and ensure her twin half-buns were perfect. Once she felt presentable, not a single of her curls out of place and her cotton clothes unsullied, she edged her way into the building.
At the door to her classroom, Ino and Sakura were causing some sort of ruckus, and Umeko slinked in unnoticed in the commotion. She sat at her usual spot, right by the window near the middle, and waited for Ino to join her once she had been cheated out of a seat by Sasuke, like she always was.
In no time at all, Ino trudged her way up the aisle to slump defeated next to Umeko. Curiously, after throwing a small glance in Sasuke’s way, it seems that Sakura had not been victorious either. Instead, the victor of the ritual morning contest was Naruto. Umeko snorted unladylike at that, and Ino pointedly cleared her throat.
“Morning, Umeko.” Ino sniffed, crossing her legs and flicking her ponytail over her shoulder. She imperiously waited for Umeko to return the greeting, and when Umeko did, she launched into a tirade about her worst enemy and knight in shining armor, Sakura and Sasuke respectively.
Umeko drummed her fingers on the edge of the desk, responding with a pleasantness she didn’t feel, “Sakura is always trying to inconvenience you. Doesn’t she know she has nothing on you?”
“I know right!” Ino agreed fervently, validated by Umeko’s sycophantic lies. “I’m so much prettier than her, and I taught her everything she knows, so really I should be top of the class.”
Ino wasn’t stupid, but Sakura had some serious academic brains on her and they both knew it. Looks wise, well, Umeko thought she was prettier than both of them with her understated chocolate brown hair and the distinctive beauty mark on her chin. Personally, Sakura and Ino were just too flashy for her tastes - such a vibrant duo of pink and blonde. No, Umeko was quite proud of her short curly brown hair and light brown eyes.
(What would she have looked like, if she had never died? Would Hotar-)
Instead of saying all of that, Umeko nodded serenely with her and ignored the groan from Shikamaru behind them at Ino’s jabbering. Of course, that caused Ino to turn and pick a fight with him, one that the lazy boy was too tired to really participate in. Valiantly, he combated the sleepiness to get a few good jabs at Ino, before relenting under the torrent of her complaints. Umeko mostly tuned the interaction out, nodding appropriately when Ino brought her into it, and resolutely did not make eye contact with a judgmental Shikamaru. What would that boy know, anyhow?
Despite her platitudes to her mother, Umeko undeniably felt the swirl of anxiety fluttering in her stomach. Her genin team would be the beginning of her shinobi career, and her success hinged on her teammates and sensei more than she would have liked. If she were to be paired with weaklings or a poor sensei, it would hold her back instrumentally, and she would have to deal with her grandfather’s ire to boot. In her head, she could already hear him sneering about teamwork and the Hokage’s naive complacency. Her eyes wandered to the back of the orange-clad monster in their midst, and she contemplated if her grandfather’s criticisms of the Hokage were true.
Almost as if he heard her thoughts, or felt the weight of her gaze, he twisted in his seat and looked back at her. His glare was sharp, but unhoned, like the underutilized weapon her grandfather preached him to be. Umeko never really gave him the time of day, not necessarily cruel but indubitably indifferent to his person. Perhaps that was a greater insult to him, her lack of attention, than attentive cruelty.
Without looking away, Umeko leaned forward on the desk and kept her eyes on him. She tried to gather all the cool, unaffected intimidation her grandfather oozed until Naruto scowled. Their staring contest only ended when Iruka-sensei yelled at him to turn around. Childishly, the slightest tick of her mouth raised, an immature competitiveness rearing its ugly head at winning something as insipid as a staring contest.
Much to her grandfather’s irritation, Umeko didn’t take everything he said as fact. She couldn’t quite say if her classmate was a monster, or just simply an unfortunate orphan with bad manners. The only opinion Umeko could say with confidence was about his lack of discipline and weak intellect. She prays for the poor fools that end up on his team.
Leaning back in her seat, Umeko does a quick scan of the room, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she thinks. Umeko would want a strong team, not just physically but politically too. A team like that would be the only way she could appease her grandfather. It made the most sense to be on a team with clan heirs.
The first obvious choice, though it made her stomach turn with displeasure, was Nara Shikamaru. Physically, he wasn’t the most impressive choice, but the political sway of the Nara clan and their contribution to Konoha would be beneficial. Being on a team with him was a best-case scenario, despite how uncomfortable it would be.
Their history wasn’t a particularly long one, though a bit unpleasant and an unfortunate testament to Umeko’s lack of charisma. At the behest of her grandfather, she had attempted to befriend the Nara heir when they were eight. When he had scoffed and walked past her without a word to nap under a tree, Umeko had taken it as the rejection it was.
That particular day had been a big hit to Umeko’s pride, and she had to nurse her ego back to health for weeks after. She never made a second attempt, not with the way his eyes seemed to see through her, which caused a bitter taste of insecurity on her tongue.
It would be personally unfortunate to be on a team with him, but nonetheless instrumental to her shinobi career. The second teammate, however, was a lot harder to choose.
To balance out Shikamaru’s weakness, she would need a physically strong teammate. Sasuke would’ve been the obvious choice as the prodigy he was, but he was the last member of his clan. Politically, he was obsolete.
Yamanaka Ino could have been a choice, her hiden jutsu particularly useful, but Umeko doesn’t really know if she has it in her to continue simpering at her feet. She was running thin on empty compliments and serene patience after years of playing the loyal lackey for political connections.
Inuzuka Kiba and Akimichi Choji had some merit, with their skill in taijutsu and respectable clans. Umeko would be a little miffed at Kiba’s hot temper and ego, as well as Choji’s limited motivation and sentimentality. It was doable, though.
Iruka-sensei cleared his throat at the front of the classroom like the worn-down twenty-something man he was. Umeko, herself, would die before she taught at the Academy — of all the jobs for a shinobi, it was the most pitiful and thankless one. Iruka-sensei seemed to enjoy it, though, and someone not entirely awful had to do it.
“I’ll be putting you into teams now.”
Umeko felt all too ready and not ready enough. The previous year of graduating shinobi still held the title of Team 1, Team 3, and Team 4. The rest of the teams had been cut, deemed not ready for the cruel, unforgiving shinobi world.
The cruel shinobi world was what she thought of as Iruka-sensei began to read off the members of Team 2. They were all civilian-born with average rankings. Since the titles of Team 3 and Team 4 were still currently held, Iruka-sensei skipped that and read the members of Team 5. Once more made of civilian-born with average rankings — Team 6 was much the same.
Grandfather called it culling. Based on arbitrary numbers and clan pedigree, Utatane, the Council member responsible for Konoha education, dumped all those doomed to fail in one team and the should-be greats in others. Some teams were duds, teams failing to meet the expectation of at least tokubetsu jounin. Her grandfather said it was a necessary process, to pool Konoha’s sources in the ones who will succeed rather than fail.
Umeko shot the pathetically average Team 6 a pitying look. They looked so excited to be on a team, to live their dream of being real shinobi. It was sad, in a kicked-puppy kind of way. Umeko had arbitrary numbers and pedigree, though, and she didn’t plan on being the dog master to sweep them under her wing.
“Don’t look so relieved,” Shikamaru drawled behind her, “there are still some civilians left.”
Umeko leaned back in her chair and flicked her hair over her shoulder, hoping the blossom-scented curls smacked him in the face. Under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear, she whispered, “Is it true the legendary Ino-Shika-Cho trio is making a comeback? It must be hard for a boy like you to live up to your father.”
Being on a team with Yamanaka Ino must be a nightmare for Shikamaru, and living up to his father’s legacy was way too much work for the sloth. Umeko glanced back at him, fluttering her eyelashes and smiling innocently, even when wishing that it wasn’t true. Her perfect team would go down the drain, unfortunately. Such an unfortunate circumstance, that her wishes hinged on lazy Nara Shikamaru.
At the mention of his father, Shikamaru glared, and Umeko had a sinking feeling she was probably right. Shikamaru scoffed at her, before laying his head on the table, willingness to challenge Umeko drained out of him.
She scowled at being dismissed, once again, and sat forward in her chair. Umeko crossed her arms and hoped Ino wouldn’t see her pout. And so concluded her second interaction with Shikamaru, ever.
She took great comfort, at least, that she wouldn’t have to be on a team with Ino. Small mercies, Umeko reminded herself. With Ino-Shika-Cho alive again, she may be robbed of one good teammate, but she was rid of an annoying one, too.
It didn’t matter. Even without pedigree coming into play, Umeko had the numbers. She aced her tests, beat down her opponents, and even arranged a bouquet second only to Ino. There was no doubt Umeko would be on a good team.
“Team 7 — Uchiha Sasuke, Uzumaki Naruto, and Ōno Umeko.”
Well.
Ino was unjustifiably mad at her. It’s not like Umeko picked the teams. She would rather be on Ino’s team than anything — Ume-Shika-Cho had a ring to it — but instead, she was stuck with these ingrates. Still, Ino was mad.
Normally, Umeko doesn’t think she would care if Ino was mad at her. Except, Ino and all of Ino’s sycophants (one of which Umeko used to be) decided to sit elsewhere for lunch. That left Umeko alone, eating a cup of noodles she had bought last night. It was disgraceful and utterly humiliating.
To hide her shame, Umeko found a secluded bench outside next to a side entrance only used by custodians and, apparently, tween rejects. After she devoured her noodles, she idled there pathetically, kicking the dirt with her sandals.
The only thing around her was the sound of birds and floating fluffy clouds. Her head tipped back, eyes shaded by the roof so she could look brazenly at the sky. They drifted by above her, like foam in water, washing away the blue of the heavens and the black of their sins. Umeko snorted to herself and her haughty pontificating. They were just clouds, stupid blotches in the air all gathered together like friends, and Umeko viciously thought of a bullet of air piercing their flossy bodies. If only they would fall from the sky, and beg at her feet for her forgiveness and mercy. Once again, pontificating - how absurd of her, and unpractical.
“Umeko?” The girl in question flinched back, her haven of misery invaded.
“Hey, Sakura.” It was painful seeing her, standing there at the path along the Academy wall. Her hair was a bright bubblegum beacon to anyone in a ten-meter radius, pointing her light at the sad and downtrodden Umeko. She tried to be gracious about it, offering a wan smile and lifting her hand lazily, “Long time no see.”
Umeko could see the way her jaw tensed even from here, and she could almost imagine hearing her teeth grinding together.
It’s not like Umeko didn’t have sympathy for Sakura. After Ino and she fought over Sasuke, Umeko chose the winning side of the Yamanaka heiress, rather than the unknown Haruno Sakura with her ever-genin parents. When Sakura sat alone at lunch and the other girls teased her, Umeko turned her back to the friendless girl. A social death was a political funeral, and Umeko kept her distance from her. There were times Sakura asked after her, or after any of Ino’s friends, and realized that they were just that - Ino’s friends. Now that she is twelve, she realizes the whole affair was rather silly, but the social isolation Sakura felt scared her right out of any dumb ideas of sympathetic grand gestures.
Instead of falling into false sweetness and veiled jabs, Sakura tossed her hair over her shoulder in an awkward imitation of Umeko and started to walk past her. Somehow, ignoring her smarted the stinging wound of Ino’s rejection even worse.
“Sorry, Sakura,” Umeko said, with all the sweetness and veiled words she had expected Sakura to use, “am I in your seat?”
Sakura stopped in her steps, and it made Umeko think for a second it might actually have been a bench she frequented. Has Umeko fallen as low as Sakura? Surely not, and Umeko endeavored to make a point of it.
In strides, Umeko came to Sakura’s side, clapping her hands together to get dust, dirt, and debris off of them. Once they were at a friendly distance, Umeko’s lips fell into an easy smile. “I just wanted to be alone for a bit. I figured only janitors and, well,” Umeko gestured at Sakura’s form, “people like you came here. I’ll give you your seat back, though.”
Triumph in establishing her superiority, Umeko turned her back on Sakura to walk away when Sakura shouted at her, “Hey, you’re going the wrong way!”
At the yell, Umeko twirled on her heel to check if she was going the wrong way and oh that would be so embarrassing but she wasn’t. Sakura smiled serenely at having caught her attention, before jabbing her index finger at the side door violently. “Janitors go in that way, Umeko.”
Content with having the final word, Sakura skipped away with all the merriment she had stolen from Umeko’s would-be victory. That conniving little-
Fury at this injustice made her vision hazy, and she channeled her chakra into her hands as she thrashed the stupid bench that started this. The grip of anger was familiar, a descension of rage that came to her in abrupt bouts and uncontrollable flashes. Wood came away in scrapes under her painted nails, the polish finally chipping off at her assault. The planks gave way under her fist and a splinter embedded itself into her palm, right under her thumb, and she yowled in anger at that too.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” With every word, the bench was stripped of more of its planks until it was just the bones of an infrastructure.
The side door closed with a thud and Umeko fell to her knees. She hadn’t even noticed the door had opened during her one-sided fight with the bench, a sullen figure watching the spectacle with contemplative eyes.
Sasuke stuck his hands into his pockets and walked off, and Umeko wanted to scream at that, too.
Ino and Sakura were best friends, once upon a time. Ino always had a following of girls trailing her footsteps, leeching off of her heiress status, but she favored poor little Sakura with the big forehead. Umeko didn’t care either way until her grandfather cared, and then she hated it.
One day, Ino discovers Sakura’s crush on Sasuke and confronts her about it because Ino likes Sasuke first. They walked away from the argument as rivals. It was a tale as old as time.
Somehow, Umeko fell into the middle of the feud, too.
Ino and Sakura had already left the classroom. Everyone did, until it was stupid Team 7 left high and dry for their mysterious sensei. Her knuckles ached after the assault on a stupid bench of all things, and the ticking clock was starting to bring back that familiar furious itch. Umeko had whittled away the first hour by carving her name into the desk she always sat at. Both Sasuke and Naruto sat in different rows in front of her, passing the time in their own ways. Once the third hour came around, Umeko’s mind had inevitably turned to reminiscing about her Academy years and insipid school drama.
She tried to think if Hotaru - no, she, because she is Hotaru - had such dramatic issues in the days spent on the playground and fields. There is a distant memory of a crush on a boy, but there had been rumors that - what was his name again? - boy shared her feelings. Umeko frowned, annoyed at the gaps in her memories, the small details escaping her desperate grasp. Even his face was hazy in her mind.
Umeko sighed and decided to push the topic away. She was Hotaru, now she’s Umeko. She made peace with that a long time ago (made peace with murdering the original Umeko, peace with the slipping recollection of a honey voice, peace with the fragility and fractured life she lives now - no one could possibly be at more peace than she is.)
Naruto entertained himself by writing lewd words on the chalkboard at the front. Umeko was almost impressed with his literacy. Sasuke sat still as a stone in the front row, his body rigid. He hadn’t moved since he finished sharpening his kunai an hour ago.
Umeko leaned forward, propping her cheek on her palm, and stared at the back of his head as if she could see into it. She wished she could — Umeko would give anything to crack his skull open and read his mind like literature.
Does he know the lengths girls would go to for his affection? Ino had started her own personal crusade, socially isolating any girl who she deemed competition in the war for his affection. The only reaction he gave was a tick of the eyebrow and a twitch of the cheek, a slight face that said “I’m annoyed” louder than any words could. He had so much power in the form of hormonal tween girls in the cup of his palm, and he did nothing with it. Either he was oblivious, or a better person than Umeko ever could be.
With an army of vapid schoolboys, Umeko would have every clan heir under her thumb by now. It would’ve been easy — join me, or die (metaphorically, speaking). Yet, Sasuke did none of that, as if he had no care for political power — only raw power, in the palm of his hand.
Naruto’s piece of chalk broke on the chalkboard, crunching in a distasteful way, and Umeko was pulled from her thoughts. She hadn’t meant to, but she had been staring at Sasuke longer than socially appropriate — and Sasuke knew that, judging by how he glared back over his shoulder.
Rather than show the embarrassment that she could feel creeping up her neck, Umeko smiled smugly at him until his eyebrow ticked and his cheek twitched. He turned from her, and her smile dropped.
“That’s it!” Naruto huffed, “I’m going to teach this guy a lesson for being so late.”
Umeko watched as he positioned a chalkboard eraser between the door frame and door, primed for an unsuspecting jounin to walk through.
“Is that for our sensei?” Umeko asked, a bit curious but mostly bored.
“Yeah, if he’s goin’ to be late, he’s gonna suffer for it!” Naruto proclaimed, and Umeko highly doubted it would work.
She could interfere, but stopping Naruto’s stupid pranks was beneath her. Umeko was a genin, not a babysitter. It didn’t hurt that a happy monster was a harmless monster.
The door slipped open, and the eraser fell. Her one-eyed, silver-headed sensei peeked through the door and succinctly said, “My first thoughts — I don’t like you.”
And Umeko’s thoughts echoed that.
Duty-bound as she was, Umeko trudged along as they walked to the roof with their sensei leading. Naruto happily skipped steps in front of her, and Sasuke sullenly followed behind her. Umeko felt like the middle of a miserable, sad sandwich.
It wasn’t really her preference, but when her new sensei asked them to sit on the stone steps, Umeko found herself perched between Naruto and Sasuke. Both of them refused to sit next to each other, and that somehow made Umeko an unwilling referee.
“Introduce yourselves.” The new sensei said, lounging against the railing like a king of a bunch of twelve-year-olds.
“Aaaaand…” Umeko drew out, leaning forward and kicking her feet, “what exactly do you want us to say?”
He spread his hands, shrugging, “Likes, dislikes, that sort of thing.”
Naruto fiddled next to her, squirming and rustling, and Umeko thought about hitting him. Like he was physically unable to stay quiet any longer, he yelled in her ear, “Well, why don’t you go first!”
“Hmm…” The sensei made a face — what kind of face, Umeko couldn’t tell you, with his mask covering it, but she saw enough of his eyes to know he did. “My name is Hatake Kakashi. I don’t feel like telling you things I like or hate. And as for my goals? Never really thought about it.”
Their first exercise in teamwork, probably, they all rolled their eyes in unison. Naruto took it upon himself to start them off, babbling inanely about ramen to the point Umeko drifted off. When it was her turn, she gave basic answers — some were true, and some were just things she added to seem more like a person than the shell she was.
Next to her, Sasuke’s fists clenched, “I plan to kill someone.”
Looking at him now, his eyes unfocused with their single-minded determination, Umeko could see the appeal he had to some girls. She could see why Ino and Sakura would tear into each other, and anyone else, for someone as intense as him. It was scary, really, the conviction he had — and Umeko believed him. If Umeko was anyone else, she would have fallen for him too. But she wasn’t, she was carved from death — the death of Umeko, the death of Hotaru — and she would survive. Even now, Umeko could see holding onto a slippery thing like Sasuke would only end in being utterly destroyed.
It was thoughts like those that kept her sullen as she walked home alone. The door to the traditional house looked just as foreboding as it did before — the only difference now was that Umeko knew she could leave it (though a piece of her never would). It creaked open when she came through, and she toed her shoes off carefully. Her grandfather should be away still, doing his duties, and she would take that time to stew in peace.
“You’re home, Umeko.” Nothing has gone her way today, has it? Her grandfather sat at the low table, sipping at his sake as if he were waiting for her arrival. If she poisoned that sake, would he taste it? She had planned to come up with some delicate way to tell him about the team assignments later, to skirt around and flip it.
Instead, she stooped to the floor in seiza, hands clenched around her knees and eyes on the floor. “Grandfather, I’m sorry. I failed you — they put me with the monster and the survivor.”
She closed her eyes and waited for the sting of a cane across her knuckles. Predictably, it came down onto her hands, but Umeko long had practice in keeping her grunts of pain silent.
“I’m disappointed, Umeko.” She opened her eyes and he took a sip of his sake. “You have such a narrow mind still, after all these years.”
It wasn’t what she expected. Umeko was expecting to be disciplined for not being good enough, but being narrow-minded? She didn’t understand. “Grandfather?”
On steady legs, despite the bandages wrapping him, he stood to his full height. “Did you think I had no influence on the Academy at all? You forget yourself.”
Umeko swallowed his disappointment and it tasted like copper. “I’m sorry, Grandfather.”
He looked down on her at her position on the ground, and she felt so lowly. Even more pathetic and sad than when she whispered empty compliments to Ino, when Shikamaru rejected her.
Her grandfather started walking away, and said into the quiet of the big lonely house, “I gave you your tools. Now use them.”
Umeko didn’t rise from her position until long after the steam from his sake cup dissipated and the sun had set.