Early Days [Solo]

[Hakiri Tadaomi]

The older generation really does love its phrases. “Practice makes perfect,” “The longest journey starts with the first step,” “Anything worth having takes effort.” Tadaomi's grandfather had used those countless times over the years until the young boy felt like he could parrot them in the same tone of voice. Over and over again until his ears were bleeding.

Still, the old bat had a point.

The student huffed as his arm swished and finished its extension. Sweat dripped from his forehead and his eyes were dark from exhaustion, but a gleam remained as he threw another punch, his feet quickly shifting as soon as he made contact with the tree in front of him. Another ripple of pain lashed through him but he ignored it, just as he'd ignored all of the others. Bark splintered in front of him as he lashed out again and again, his hand throbbing with heat, but his mind was clear as he kept his focus on the training.

So much of Taijutsu was about conditioning the body, he knew. His parents had taught him that from the very start after all. Always work to toughen the body every day. Whatever didn't kill him would make him stronger. Especially for someone like him. It was only years after his training had started that his parents told him, with an edge of pride in their voices, that they'd originally had little hope for him. His starting talent had been...poor.

The one thing he had in abundance was determination.

His fist hit the tree again with a heavy thud and he hissed in pain, eyes flashing as he danced back a step and followed up his first strike with another two, refusing to let his hands rest. Just ten more sets. Ten more and he would be finished with this for the day. His arms moved easily, but his attention was on the flow of chakra inside of his arms. Years of physical training had made him tougher than most of his 'peers' but his parents had never taught him any jutsu. That was, after all, something that only came after he had established his foundation. For someone like him, it could only be once his body was strong enough and after he'd proven his worth by entering the Shinobi Academy.

He'd entered now, and Kumogakure had already started to teach him the basics. He'd attacked the lessons with a will, but even he had to admit that the only thing that he could really learn was Taijutsu. Only some Ninjutsu came to his hand, and he was utterly at a loss when it came to Genjutsu. But that was fine. His fist flashed forward again and he huffed, shaking his head as he threw another punch. Chakra control isn't good enough yet. He frowned as his set of ten came to an end...and he started again. If it isn't good, then keep going. The thought was cold, crushing the small part of him that wanted to stop and let himself rest. He couldn't be weak.

He couldn't. The thought was a drum, a refrain, his call in life. If there was a thought he lived and breathed, it was that one, and his only counter to weakness was effort and training. If he couldn't determine how to control chakra yet, then he'd keep trying. One method and then another, until his veins felt like they were on fire and-

Tadaomi's face flickered and paled as he fell to the ground, gasping for air as his fist hit the tree an angle it shouldn't. Agony played a wicked tune across his nerves, a violinist's master performance that ripped through him and left him panting on the uncaring earth. “Shit.” The short and pungent curse escaped him through gritted teeth, hissed out as he stared at the dirt and slowly felt his hand and wrist, wincing only once as he found the spot.

Looked like he'd earned himself another badge of honor, the young boy thought viciously, the pain speeding his thoughts. But he didn't think it was too bad. Not enough to visit the hospital. He'd just need to be careful.

He stood back up again slowly, schooling his face back into carefully crafted coldness as he brushed away the sole involuntary tear which leaked out onto his face. He'd been onto something there at the end and he was hardly going to let it slip away.

Again his fist lashed out at the tree.

Just as his granddad said. Anything worth having takes effort. Or, as he'd heard it without the bullshit in it, be ready to bleed for what you want.

WC: 777

 

[Hakiri Tadaomi]

How young had he been?

Too young for anyone sane to put him out here. Rocky crags loomed over him, their shadows long in the dwindling twilight, and the chill radiating from their uncaring faces fought to seep into his bones. Tadaomi shivered, his hands all but numb as he clawed his way up the cliff. The child shivered, but quelled the movement in an instant, his eyes wide in horror. His fingers nearly slipped with just that, and his fingers were white as they gripped the rock. The young boy looked up, uncertainty swimming in his eyes as he estimated how far it was to the top. Then he grimaced. Another ten meters to go, but he only had another half hour of daylight left.

He didn't have enough time to reach the top and then get home.

Tadaomi's teeth set in a grimace as he shuddered again. It wasn't fair. He wasn't strong enough to do this yet!

Of course, he thought faintly, the last time he'd dare say anything like that, he'd been forced to spar with his grandfather until he'd blacked out. Five times in a row.

If I'm not strong enough for this yet, I'll just have to get strong enough, now won't I?

His fingers stretched up for the next crack in the rock his keen eyes had spotted, worming their way in and pulling him upward. The ground beckoned to him far below, a fatal fall if he lost his grip, and the wind screamed a promise of pain as it tried to rip him away. The cliff was safety though, and he continued to climb between gusts. Tadaomi's muscles screamed at him as he clawed his way upwards step by step, and the darkness of twilight disguised the cracks he needed. It was just as much a test of his vision as it was his body, and it was one he was going to suc-

He slipped just slightly and screamed in shock and sudden terror, hands scrabbling for the cliff as the wind howled and laughed. Desperate fingers tore at the rock and caught on something which swung him at the rock face instead of letting him continue to fall into empty space. The whimper of pain was forced out of him as he slammed into the crag, and his hands twisted the wrong way in the crack of the cliff.

He panted there, a tiny figure clinging to the rock as though it were his lifeline, and delicately began to pry his hand out of the rock. It was all he could do to distract himself as panic rose up.

Family went home. There's nobody here.

I'm going to die.

Going to die.

I'm injured-

Stuck-

How do I get out. Help me mom. Dad. Where are you? I need you!

The screaming wind was the only answer to his frantic mental shout. As the darkness fell, the utter isolation he was in pressed down on him. He couldn't breathe. The boy wanted to touch his chest, force his lungs to work, but he couldn't even move a finger he was so scared. His lungs were burning! BURNING! His vision shook as he trembled like a leaf. Could he survive?

The question stuck in the forefront of his brain like a curse, a brand.

Tadaomi felt weaker and weaker as the darkness closed in, his breath coming in little sips of air as he balanced on the edge of something he couldn't recognize. But on the other side...he knew there was something he shied away from instinctively. That way lay death. And on the other side...

The other side...

Slowly, oh so slowly, the little boy wriggled his hand out of the crack in the rock. One step at a time, one carefully considered movement, he climbed the cliff. The wind was dying down now, and hanging from the crack had given him a chance to rest his legs. The wild turmoil of his mind was pushed to the side as he focused on the here and now. Panic could come later, he knew distantly, although the thoughts were faint. An iron door stood between him and that fear, and without the fear to paralyze him he fought his way up...

Until his hand clawed onto the clifftop and he hoisted himself up. Tadaomi's eyes blazed with fire as he hauled himself away from that deadly ledge before turning towards home. Somewhere a few hours away was the Hakiri household and the rest of the Kyoujouran. It was dark now, and dangerous as the wild animals began to hunt, but he would make it home before the icy chill of the night swept over him.

It was only after he had returned and flopped onto his bed that he finally let himself relax...and felt the tears he'd sealed away pour out. He could have died! Would have died...if not for luck and the work he'd already done. The strength he'd already gained.

If this...if this was how life really was...

Then he was weak. Far too weak to survive. He had to get stronger, much stronger. He couldn't complain anymore, couldn't slack off.

He would survive.

-------

“Again.”

Hakiri Tadaomi stood in the middle of the arena on the barren earth with a blindfold on. Darkness was all around him and his heartbeat pounded in his ears as his bare feet tensed on the earth. Rumbling and vibrations traveled through the ground to him as he shifted positions, barely even cognizant of the bloody lines across his chest. They were coming again, shifting all around him. He was concentrating, putting all of the emphasis he could on the earth beneath him, and-

There!

The young boy, only seven years old, dodged backwards, hearing the swish of air across his chest as the blade came close to splitting him open. He landed and felt again, all of his muscles tensed before he flung himself in a diving roll to the right. He hit the earth hard, barely coming up in a roll, but he didn't go down as his hands balanced him. Another vibration warned him, and-

Pain lanced through him as something smashed into his shoulder, hard and unyielding, and Tadaomi hit the rocks beneath him without even a whimper of pain. Instead he lay there panting, getting his breath back, feeling the ground beneath him, and staggered to his feet as the deep voice of his grandfather rumbled.

“Again.”

--------

“HAA!” The shout echoed across the clearing as Tadaomi struck out forcefully, his fist cleaving the pile of planks in twain before he whirled and sprinted at the next set.

“More forcefully! If you want to be a Kyoujouran, you must be firm with every strike,” his father yelled, watching his son carefully from the edge of the training area. His eyes were harsh but not cold, his scarred face stiff as he easily kept pace with the boy.

Tadaomi didn't respond, spending his energy instead on keeping watch on his movements. Zaiken was what his father and grandfather called their family's fighting style, and the hard and controlled motions took some getting used to. He was ten now, nearly old enough to go to the academy, and his body was covered in the scars of years of training. Years of practice and now he used all of those years to send his fist towards the next stack of wood with all of the power in his body. All of his concentration was there, and-

There was a sound like tearing paper as his fist went through the entire stack. Silence fell for just a moment as he took a step back, being careful to keep his feet in contact with the ground, and eyed the wood.

They weren't even shattered. There was just a hole that went all the way through. His eyes glittered as he saw it, but he kept silent as he waited for his father's opinion. His old man walked up and looked at the entire stack before turning his attention to the boy who waited for the verdict.

“Almost passable,” he finally growled, and Tadaomi merely nodded as though the reply was expected. That was the best yet. A year ago he was called an idiot, a waste who could never get anything right. Slowly the insults became less harsh, and now he was nearly there.

Nearly.

“We'll work on your form again. You're too stiff. Controlled means that you have every motion under your command, not that you're akin to the board you're striking!” His father shouted, gesturing for his son to follow him as he once again struck out to demonstrate. After a moment Tadaomi followed without even a hint of annoyance. Only by persevering could he master the Kyoujouran jutsu and bloodline. Only by working until he bled could he become a true Shinobi. That was his path, the fusion of Kyoujouran ideals and what he'd seen so far. But at the end of that road, no one could stop him.

------

“Tadaomi.”

The voice echoed in the small, almost dilapidated hall of his grandfather's residence. The young boy was dressed in all black, kneeling before him with his back as straight as a sword. The day had come for him to leave, but his grandfather, the ancient and heavily scarred patriarch, had asked for him to come. The young boy was curious, but tried to prevent that from showing on his face as he faced the old man diligently. He was nothing if not strict...specially when it came to any perceived lack of respect.

The man's eyes burned in the dark hall as he eyed the single member of the younger generation which had survived. “You will go to Kumogakure tomorrow and will remain there for some time. We will not be there to teach you, and you will be unable to return to us for some time, possibly until you reach Chuunin.” With that, he reached to his side and grabbed several scrolls that had lain there since Tadaomi had entered. He extended the first, eyes harsh in the shadows his face cast while weighing his grandson for any sign of weakness.

Tadaomi bowed deeply before reaching out to take the first scroll, unraveling it before looking at it in the dim light. He stiffened a moment later in surprise, his eyes darting beyond to his grandfather. “This is...”

A deep laugh rumbled through the room before his grandfather spoke again. “Memorize them. You won't take them with you, Lightning simply isn't trustworthy enough for that. When you return, you can see them again...and further your studies. You are one of the next generation, Tadaomi. Live up to our name.”

WC: 1798