One week turned into two. The blow the boy received from Miro had been more than enough to literally knock him into next month. No doubt only intending to knock the boy out for a few days, his brain received such trauma that the staff in the Academy was forced to keep an eye on him as he slept in a coma-like state for an entire three-hundred and thirty-six hours. When Shinjo finally opened his eyes, he was met not with medical equipment, but the top bunk of a bed. His eyes swung around the room for a moment to regain his barrings as to where he was and what was going on. Within a few minutes, Shin realized he was inside the Kumogakure Academy. While he never got to see the inside of the dormitories, his godparents had gave him enough details in the hopes to persuade him from it. The mattress he laid on was bumpy and old, having been the resting spot of many students before, and if he had looked there would be easy to find bloodstains as well. The blanket that covered him was scratchy and did little to keep the actual cold out from his body. The pillow? Didn’t exist. Yet despite it being easily a million times worse than his own bed at home, Shinjo had never felt so rested. Carefully he removed the blanket, swung his feet over the edge, and tried to stand. The child’s knees buckled a little from the sharp pains going from his ankles all the way up his back. Curiously, he wondered just how long he had slept as he rubbed his legs into full wake before stumbling towards the small amount of light pouring in through a crack in the window near his bed.
There were no other children in the room with him, and as he pulled back the curtains of the room, he saw why. He was in the second story of the Academy, looking down on the blanket of forest that surrounded it, and stretched out way beyond, was the city he had come from. The trees shook every now and again as cries mixed of both pain and success rose above the canopy. Shinobi training, he had recalled. He had only done about a week’s worth of it, and his classes were more supplemental than full on because his godparents had at least convinced him to not throw himself into full training; clearly the Sennin who had captured him disagreed. Those who trained from home and not within the walls of the Academy full on itself had a bit of special treatment as the city attempted to push those children to see if they had the “gift” of chakra. Most of the kids who volunteered for the Academy were like him, and well over 3/4ths of them ended up never completing the first year. They moved on to be common workers. Those who were “selected”, didn’t get this luxury. Yet, it was not a fear that drowned Shinjo’s heart, but excitement. In his mind, Miro had chosen him. It wasn’t just being thrown into the wolf pack that was the academy for the fun of it…a powerful shinobi had decided that he needed full training. To the boy, the matter of him meaning something to someone wasn’t what excited him; it was the potential to become what his late father feared. The strength to turn a man that, in his head, as an unstoppable powerhouse into a sniveling coward gave him a feeling of superiority that he just couldn’t shake. His hands clenched the curtains, the cold breeze from the poorly insulated room doing little to dissuade him as he stared down at the trees beyond.
Shinjo spend the next five-to-ten minutes helping his muscles remember how to work before finding his clothes in a trunk at the end of the bed. His kimono had been washed and beneath it was a heavy long box. Without opening it, the boy knew, that inside was his father’s sword. He had no idea how it had gotten here, only that his godparents had to of been behind it. They were the ones who took the blade and locked it away with ninjutsu seal that was missing now. Half of his body wanted to reach into the box, withdraw the weapon, and throw it out into the forest beyond. A fourth of him wanted to learn how to use it, and the final fourth wanted just nothing to do with it at all. Deciding he fully agreed with the latter, Shinjo felt it best to just leave it be, and ignored the black box containing the katana. The boy robed himself up with the kimono before removing himself from the empty dormitory. Outside, unlike the silence it had been within the room with beds, was a cacophony of children and adults screaming at each other while weapons clashed. There was a heat to this area too, as the practiced movement of multiple bodies produced a natural warmth that fought off against the terrible cold outside.
Without a clue as where to go, Shinjo walked forward with the assurance that someone would stop him, ask questions, and then direct where he needed to be.
[MFT]
There were no other children in the room with him, and as he pulled back the curtains of the room, he saw why. He was in the second story of the Academy, looking down on the blanket of forest that surrounded it, and stretched out way beyond, was the city he had come from. The trees shook every now and again as cries mixed of both pain and success rose above the canopy. Shinobi training, he had recalled. He had only done about a week’s worth of it, and his classes were more supplemental than full on because his godparents had at least convinced him to not throw himself into full training; clearly the Sennin who had captured him disagreed. Those who trained from home and not within the walls of the Academy full on itself had a bit of special treatment as the city attempted to push those children to see if they had the “gift” of chakra. Most of the kids who volunteered for the Academy were like him, and well over 3/4ths of them ended up never completing the first year. They moved on to be common workers. Those who were “selected”, didn’t get this luxury. Yet, it was not a fear that drowned Shinjo’s heart, but excitement. In his mind, Miro had chosen him. It wasn’t just being thrown into the wolf pack that was the academy for the fun of it…a powerful shinobi had decided that he needed full training. To the boy, the matter of him meaning something to someone wasn’t what excited him; it was the potential to become what his late father feared. The strength to turn a man that, in his head, as an unstoppable powerhouse into a sniveling coward gave him a feeling of superiority that he just couldn’t shake. His hands clenched the curtains, the cold breeze from the poorly insulated room doing little to dissuade him as he stared down at the trees beyond.
Shinjo spend the next five-to-ten minutes helping his muscles remember how to work before finding his clothes in a trunk at the end of the bed. His kimono had been washed and beneath it was a heavy long box. Without opening it, the boy knew, that inside was his father’s sword. He had no idea how it had gotten here, only that his godparents had to of been behind it. They were the ones who took the blade and locked it away with ninjutsu seal that was missing now. Half of his body wanted to reach into the box, withdraw the weapon, and throw it out into the forest beyond. A fourth of him wanted to learn how to use it, and the final fourth wanted just nothing to do with it at all. Deciding he fully agreed with the latter, Shinjo felt it best to just leave it be, and ignored the black box containing the katana. The boy robed himself up with the kimono before removing himself from the empty dormitory. Outside, unlike the silence it had been within the room with beds, was a cacophony of children and adults screaming at each other while weapons clashed. There was a heat to this area too, as the practiced movement of multiple bodies produced a natural warmth that fought off against the terrible cold outside.
Without a clue as where to go, Shinjo walked forward with the assurance that someone would stop him, ask questions, and then direct where he needed to be.
[MFT]
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