Chapter 1
When Rokurou turns five, his mother picks him up and collapses less than a minute later. His father finds them on the kitchen floor after nearly an hour; Rokurou an incoherent sobbing mess, and his mother unconscious on top of him.
His father has time to do little other than pick his mother up, tell him to stay where he is, and rush to the hospital.
(“Contact poison,” They tell Ryuji. “Some kind of fast-acting tranquilizer. Did this happen in-village?”
If it’s contact poison, what did she touch? They ask without asking.)
Rokurou’s father brings him to the hospital after examining every surface in the kitchen. He uses gloves and explains quickly but sternly that Rokurou must not try to touch him.
They run tests, and what they find is this: Rokurou has, inexplicably, begun to sweat a simple but somewhat unique contact sedative. It’s certainly not entirely unique, but the specific combination of components he’s secreting—twenty-one percent mimic-flower, seventy-nine percent redweed—hasn’t been tested for use before.
Mimic-flowers and redweed, one of the medics explains, are naturally occurring plants, and one or the other’s essence is commonly found in tranquilizer bases. Together, the result is usually death, so they’re offset by adding stabilizers, but Rokurou has none. It’s a miracle he’s sweating a tranquilizer and not a neuropoison.
The medic says it to Rokurou’s father, but he can hear them through the door. Listening to him say, mimic-flower usually reacts badly to redweed. It’s a good thing the concentration wasn’t any higher, and so admiringly, makes Rokurou’s skin crawl.
“I’d like to take my son home now,” Ryuji says coldly, and the man takes the hint because he stops waxing poetic about Rokurou’s miracle sweat sedative.
In the midst of all this, Rokurou doesn’t really feel the need to make anyone aware of the memory influx he received between his mother being rushed to the hospital and his father returning.
He can keep that to himself. He doesn’t need to sound insane as well as dangerous.
(Because he is dangerous now. Not in an extremely deadly way, but no one can touch him if they don’t want to lose three hours of their time to unconsciousness and another two so the hospital can test for any hidden effects.)
So life changes. One part of him mourns the loss of the days before. Another part sees the change even more dramatically; from twenty-three to five in an unfamiliar world.
The actual changes go like this: His wardrobe suddenly consists of only long-sleeves. He wears little boots instead of little sandals, and he has special gloves, and his clothes are washed separately from his mother and father’s.
His father no longer picks him up. He holds Rokurou’s gloved hand when they go places, his own hands gloved just in case.
He’s not allowed outside except for his monthly checkup at the hospital, to keep any accidents from happening.
His mother refuses to touch him. She’s scared. Rokurou tries not to feel upset about it—she’s a shinobi, and she cannot have liked being poisoned in her own home, by her own son. Even accidentally.
His parents don’t fight about him, exactly. His father expresses disapproval quietly, and his mother refuses to acknowledge it. A stalemate, since his father never gets any louder about it.
“Fuyuko,” He’ll say tiredly when she moves back if Rokurou gets too close.
“Ryuji,” She’ll respond, and that’s about as far as they ever get into that issue.
(It makes a lot more sense when Rokurou goes back to the hospital for his first monthly round of testing. With a different medic, because the one who was so admiring of his sedative is ‘too busy’.
It makes a lot more sense because he hears some of the nurses talking, and they say, she was exposed so long, she’s lucky she’s not in a coma right now. She’s lucky it wasn’t a lethal dose.)
So Rokurou doesn't blame her. Not really. Not even when she starts leaving the house more often than not, because Rokurou is always there.
When he turns six, his checkups go from monthly to every other month. It's around that time that he learns he's living in Iwagakure; the cliff city and stone bridges and interspersed rain go from interesting to recognizable when he sees the tower.
The tallest building has a domed top and the kanji for earth, and since 'Earth' doesn't exist in this world, he asks his father what it means.
"It means we are strong," Is the answer. "We are Earth Country's protectors."
Earth Country. It might have taken Rokurou much longer had they not detoured that direction on the way to his checkup.
For his birthday, his father gives him a large stuffed tiger, a new pair of gloves, and two storybooks. His mother gets him a pair of hair clips the same dark green as his hair—it’s getting long, with no one cutting it lately—and a set of purple marbles.
The storybooks are Tale of the Bamboo Cutter and The Obsidian Boy.
Obsidian Boy is Rokurou’s favorite. It’s about a boy born from a clump of obsidian when a miner struck it. The boy eventually learns his bones won’t break, and begins helping the mining village he was born beside.
He finds a girl in a field one day, and she’s running from something, which he learns is a snake. He kills the snake, but not before it bites him, and the venom kills him before he realizes he’s been injured.
It’s a cautionary tale. No matter how strong you get, don’t let your guard down.
Good advice for if Rokurou- when Rokurou becomes a shinobi. He'll take it, honestly, but it's a reminder as well. That he will be a shinobi. Everything seems to point that way lately.
His doctor gives him a pack of face masks, because he’ll be starting the Academy this year and—in her words—children aren’t good about the phrase don’t touch.
Rokurou would protest, and wants to do so desperately. It’s been a year and he still has trouble processing that it’s possible here to constantly sweat a sedative and be fine.
The problem is that he has a 'neo-bloodline'. He wants to protest so badly, but what he knows is this: they would never let him stay civilian, not as he is.
(But Rokurou doesn't want to kill. He wants to die even less. There's nothing he can do outside of running away, and he can't do that either. Ryuji might not be the first person Rokurou pictures when he thinks father, but he's still the one attachment Rokurou really has.
He doesn't want to give that up.)
—
Reality hits him like a sack of live electric eels. Iwa might not let him stay civilian, but that doesn’t automatically make him good at preparing to be a shinobi.
The Academy entrance exam is no paper test. It’s Iwa shinobi, probably chunin, running six-year-olds through exercises to see who drops first. Or more accurately, who drops last.
It’s long and grueling and takes the better part of a whole day, because breaks are worked in between the drills so nobody actually dies.
Rokurou works drills further from the larger group because the instructors aren’t stupid. At least it doesn’t look too odd; several kids started out standing in cliques and couldn’t have the energy to move away from their groups even if they wanted to.
Water is provided, but food is not, and lunch is skipped. It doesn’t seem very efficient—don’t they want to know what everyone is capable of with energy?—but when some of the kids start to whine, the instructors all tell them the same thing. 'This builds endurance.'
There’s no ‘if you can’t handle it, go home’ or ‘go cry to your parents’. Just an explanation and the continuation of the drills.
Rokurou can’t decide if it’s better or worse from Konoha. Had there even been an entrance exam for it in the manga? He doesn’t remember.
So Iwa has standards. Already a step up from what Rokurou had been expecting.
Anyway, he passes with what feels like a mediocre score. He also figures out that the reason the Academy starts two days after the entrance exam is because no one can move the day after.
Go figure.
The actual Academy begins with rules. Smart, probably. They go over acceptable behavior in class with Tanaka-sensei, who seems like the last person to be lecturing about patience.
Next, it's clarified for their small child minds that there is a war happening. Most of the kids seem aware of that—Rokurou was not.
He blames the limited contact with the outside world.
They learn about how the war started (supposedly; Rokurou isn't stupid enough to take the explanation at face value) and that they're winning (also taken with a grain of salt).
Then they're told that they are important. That they are valuable. They're told that they're important because they are the next generation, and they must be ready to fight with all their strength.
The word superior gets thrown around like a basketball. Seems a little much for six year olds, in Rokurou's humble opinion, but hey. Propaganda has gotta start early, right?
Tanaka-sensei quotes a book called Rock-Nin’s Guide. He writes the quote on the board with the reference and everything, though it’s likely wasted on this particular class.
“‘Earth is the strongest element. Solid as stone, slippery as mud. To be Iwa shinobi is to be strong shinobi.’”
Rokurou’s pretty sure half the kids are picking their nose in boredom already. But he likes it. It reminds him of Obsidian Boy, which makes him think of how both books tie into Iwa’s values and culture.
They’ve built themselves a city in the mountains. The semi-consistent rain, while it makes stone slick, creates beautiful rainbows throughout the mountain peaks. A good chunk of Rokurou misses what he had, but there is no denying that compared to where he grew up before, Iwa is gorgeous.
Iwa is gorgeous and her people value strength above all things. Strength can mean endurance, power, speed—anything that makes you formidable.
Tanaka-sensei says it all in the very first lesson, until it becomes clear no one is listening. He makes a hand seal and turns the floor into mud, which handily recaptures everyone’s attention.
Only because suddenly everyone wants Tanaka-sensei to teach them the jutsu, though.
“Take a recess,” He snaps, “And come back ready to learn or don’t come back at all.” Which is… a little harsh for six-year-olds. Rokurou wonders why he’s allowed to teach.
Fifteen minutes later, they’re called back inside, and—miracle of all miracles—the majority of the class settles down to listen.
Tanaka-sensei resumes his lesson. He touches on the various sources Iwa gets their food from. “It’s important to understand how to get food if supply lines get cut. There will be an outing in three days so you can learn how to hunt and gather.”
Rokurou thinks that sounds dangerous if there’s a war happening, but doesn’t say so. He’s starting to think Tanaka-sensei is recovering from some injury or another and isn’t really a sensei at all.
But aside from the first time Tanaka-sensei lost his temper, the day goes uneventfully. When Rokurou walks home with his father, he shares his suspicion about his teacher.
It makes his father laugh. “You’re probably right,” He says, mirth still in his eyes. “I wouldn’t ask, though.”
Rokurou kindly refrains from wondering aloud if his father thinks he’s stupid, and instead asks if they’re having noodles for dinner.