Name: Uchima Shoma
Age: 13
Physical Description:
Weighing in at 55kg and standing at 160cm tall, Shoma's short black hair and dark eyes make a sharp contrast to the white baggie t-shirts he favors, while black cargo pants and sturdy boots reflect an appreciation for utility beyond his years. The only adornment on his person is a copper bracelet the width of a finger around his right wrist.
Shoma's build, while still youthfully thin, echoes the man those who know his father expect him to become. With broad shoulders and limbs that don't seem to be waiting for the rest of him to catch up, some of the younger students already find him a bit intimidating, though he does his best to counteract the effect with a frequent smile.
Mental Description:
Shoma is quick to laugh and slow to anger, though he's been called too sensitive at times. He is acutely aware of the difference between himself and his classmates, both physically and mentally, the embarrassment of his late acceptance to the academy constantly on his mind.
He has always had a place in his heart for animals, the family dog Kuma often serving as his closest friend and confidant, and can often be seen feeding and talking to the local strays around town. His few friends know him to be loyal, if guarded at first, though he's always had difficulty feeling as if he belongs with most people his own age. He typically finds himself nodding and smiling at the fringe of conversation, watching and listening, enjoying socializing as more an observer than an active participant.
History:
To know Shoma, one must first know his father. Uchima Kioshi is a large man, known as the Gentle Giant of Yomogita, the small village outside Konohagakure proper where he has raised his son for 13 years. A widower for just as long, it's common knowledge among patrons of his tea shop that the years since his wife's passing have seen him retreat into himself and his craft. None would doubt that he loves his son, but it's clear to those who pay attention, and some do, that it's a love held at arm's length. Perhaps there's too much in the boy of his mother.
Shoma is an echo of his father, both in temperament and in small measures, appearance. He had spent his life living in Yomogita, helping his father tend the tea shop since he was old enough to carry a tray, occasionally going out to play with the few village boys that he got along with, but generally staying at home, playing with and training Kuma, the family Akita. His world was small, largely unvaried, and saturated with an air of melancholy surrender to the slow and inevitable flow of time, that if one looked close enough, appeared thickest around his father.
It wasn't until Shoma was 10 years old that he discovered what would become his own quiet passion, a diversion from the tedium of life akin to his father's love of tea. It was a slow day in the shop and what few patrons had darkened their threshold in the early afternoon had never seen fit to leave, sipping on pot after pot of the Uchima family's signature jasmine tea. There were three of them; a tall, thin man with long black hair, a woman who was greying at the temples, with eyes that seemed at once lazy and alert, and a child no older than Shoma. The adults both wore bands of fabric with a metal plate, the man had tied his around his head and the woman had hers on her left upper arm. Shoma had never seen a Konohagakure shinobi before, but some of his friends had and told the tale often, and he recognized the emblem of the village instantly. The young girl didn't seem to bear the insignia, but that made sense. Genin, Shoma remembered, were usually older kids. Shoma made it his business to offer them a refill as soon as they had finished their pot, taking the opportunity to listen in to snippets of the conversation.
Over the course of the afternoon, he had collected enough tidbits to construct a story about the three. Whether or not it was the true story was irrelevant, for it served its purpose of delivering him from the familiar surroundings of the teahouse to lands far away, some full of clouds, others of sand. He imagined, in the spaces between refills, grand battles between the demi-gods known as shinobi. The man with long hair spoke in cool, even tones, at a cadence that brought to mind the languid gait of a panther through the forest. That man, Shoma had decided, was a master of Genjutsu. He imagined the man weaving and warping reality with the practiced motion of the hand seals shinobi were famous for. The woman spoke less often, apparently content to surrender control of the conversation to the man. She, Shoma thought, must be a Taijutsu specialist, able to paralyze a man with a series of quick, targeted strikes. The little girl, for her part, seemed intent on listening to the two. Shoma gathered that she must be the man's apprentice, and he had brought her to meet an old friend, a kunoichi to look up to. He had heard snippets confirming as much, and suddenly felt a pang of longing. He wondered if he would ever have someone like that, someone more ambitious than his father, who drove him to become something more. More than what, he couldn't say exactly, but... more.
The trio stayed until the sun was about to tuck itself into bed behind the trees, leaving just before dark with a generous tip for their attentive waiter. The tip went into the coffers with the rest of their yen once they had left, of course, but they had given Shoma something more valuable than currency. They'd given him perspective, a glimmer of aspiration. He began learning all that he could about shinobi and the world beyond his village. Most of his understanding came from books he managed to forage from the meager village library, some stylized accounts of actual shinobi experiences, others wild fantasy about men who could move mountains and summon snakes that could encircle the world twice over. He read the basics of chakra theory and learned (his approximation of) the hand seals necessary to perform ninja arts. His friends thought him obsessed, his father often shook his head at the childish folly, but still, he persisted in the hours after the tea shop had closed for the evening. He watched and waited for the trio of shinobi to return, but it was a long three years before his patience was rewarded.
The man had changed little, aside from a few more wrinkles here and there, but the woman had gone noticeably more grey, her once lazy gaze now closer to weary. The little girl was with them as well, though she, like Shoma, had begun growing into herself. She wore a headband now, though hers was around her right thigh. She'd gone from quiet and obviously a bit awestruck with the woman to a bit loud, clearly opinionated. The three took up the same seats they had monopolized in the past, but this time the conversation was markedly different. Most of what Shoma gathered, having assumed his customary position as tea-refiller, came from the girl who he now knew was named Aika. It seemed they had returned to celebrate her graduation from the academy and elevation to the rank of Genin. They'd come back to the tea shop as it was the first place the man, who she simply called Sensei, had taken her after her assignment to his class.
There it was again, the feeling of having missed out. Shoma wondered as he waited, what would it be like to have a mentor, an adult engaged enough with the world and with him as to properly show him the way. He glanced guiltily at his father, knowing that Kioshi had always done the best he could manage. It was just, well his best sometimes wasn't what Shoma needed. He turned back to the trio at the table, and suddenly, as if taking off a mask he'd worn his whole life, Shoma did something very out of character. He cleared his throat, strode to the side of the table, and said, "Excuse me, may I ask a question?"
The master, his former student, and the older woman all turned to look at him. It occurred to Shoma that the world was a much more comfortable place when held in the confines of his imagination, but he'd let his imagination leak into reality now, and he would have to finish what he'd started. He gulped and continued, "I was wondering if I could ask you about the ninja academy. Do they take just anyone?"
The girl barked a laugh, cut short by a terse glance from her sensei. The woman looked appraisingly at Shoma but didn't respond. It was the man who spoke like a predator stalking its prey who replied, "They take anyone with the aptitude, but you're a bit old now. You'd probably be a Genin at this age."
"Yeah, you're probably not much older than me, and I made Genin yesterday!", the girl chimed in, and was rewarded with another glance built to stop a deer in its tracks.
Shoma's face went from a rosy pink to beet red.
"Oh, ok. I guess I'm too old, huh?"
The girl promptly nodded, the man's eyes let through something akin to sympathy, Shoma thought absently that must be what passed for a look of remorse in the animal world, but the woman interjected,
"I have heard of children beginning classes as late as you. It's not impossible, though you would be with children much younger and much more experienced than you are."
"That's alright, I don't mind"
The words were spilling out faster than his mind could form them at this point. He wasn't sure if the woman's comment had been encouragement or simple statement of fact, but it rang something of hope.
"I was wondering if you might tell me how to join, if it's not too much trouble. I've been wanting to go ever since I saw you here last time, but nobody from my village has become a shinobi, and my dad doesn't know much about it, but I was hoping you might be able to tell me, please."
The man and his student were looking at the woman now, keen interest written all over their faces.
"The entrance exam will be held in a few weeks' time, but you would need to live in Konohagakure, and there's no guarantee you would be admitted at your age. You should talk with your father about it, if it's something that you really want to do."
"I will, I will. Thank you! Uh... would you like more tea?"
At that, the three of them laughed. Shoma could see his father shaking his head from the corner of his eye, hands moving in that practiced circular patter as he wiped a tea cup dry. He knew it would be a difficult conversation, but somehow he thought he knew what the answer would be. His father would likely be... if not happier, then maybe not as constantly sad without him around.
Three weeks later, Uchima Shoma stood at the front door of the Konohagakure Ninja Academy, surrounded mostly by children 4 to 2 years his junior, attracting curious looks from teachers and parents alike. He clutched his acceptance letter in one hand and fiddled with his mother's copper bracelet with the other. It was the only thing he had of hers, and while he'd never known her, he sometimes felt that he could feel her, just a little bit when he touched it. He'd imagined sometimes what his father might have been like if he hadn't had to trade her for Shoma. Maybe, in a small way, he was about to find out. He took a deep breath, strode through the threshold, and began looking for a door marked "Chakra 101". Thus he began the first steps of the rest of his life.
Bloodline/Core ability: None yet
Age: 13
Physical Description:
Weighing in at 55kg and standing at 160cm tall, Shoma's short black hair and dark eyes make a sharp contrast to the white baggie t-shirts he favors, while black cargo pants and sturdy boots reflect an appreciation for utility beyond his years. The only adornment on his person is a copper bracelet the width of a finger around his right wrist.
Shoma's build, while still youthfully thin, echoes the man those who know his father expect him to become. With broad shoulders and limbs that don't seem to be waiting for the rest of him to catch up, some of the younger students already find him a bit intimidating, though he does his best to counteract the effect with a frequent smile.
Mental Description:
Shoma is quick to laugh and slow to anger, though he's been called too sensitive at times. He is acutely aware of the difference between himself and his classmates, both physically and mentally, the embarrassment of his late acceptance to the academy constantly on his mind.
He has always had a place in his heart for animals, the family dog Kuma often serving as his closest friend and confidant, and can often be seen feeding and talking to the local strays around town. His few friends know him to be loyal, if guarded at first, though he's always had difficulty feeling as if he belongs with most people his own age. He typically finds himself nodding and smiling at the fringe of conversation, watching and listening, enjoying socializing as more an observer than an active participant.
History:
To know Shoma, one must first know his father. Uchima Kioshi is a large man, known as the Gentle Giant of Yomogita, the small village outside Konohagakure proper where he has raised his son for 13 years. A widower for just as long, it's common knowledge among patrons of his tea shop that the years since his wife's passing have seen him retreat into himself and his craft. None would doubt that he loves his son, but it's clear to those who pay attention, and some do, that it's a love held at arm's length. Perhaps there's too much in the boy of his mother.
Shoma is an echo of his father, both in temperament and in small measures, appearance. He had spent his life living in Yomogita, helping his father tend the tea shop since he was old enough to carry a tray, occasionally going out to play with the few village boys that he got along with, but generally staying at home, playing with and training Kuma, the family Akita. His world was small, largely unvaried, and saturated with an air of melancholy surrender to the slow and inevitable flow of time, that if one looked close enough, appeared thickest around his father.
It wasn't until Shoma was 10 years old that he discovered what would become his own quiet passion, a diversion from the tedium of life akin to his father's love of tea. It was a slow day in the shop and what few patrons had darkened their threshold in the early afternoon had never seen fit to leave, sipping on pot after pot of the Uchima family's signature jasmine tea. There were three of them; a tall, thin man with long black hair, a woman who was greying at the temples, with eyes that seemed at once lazy and alert, and a child no older than Shoma. The adults both wore bands of fabric with a metal plate, the man had tied his around his head and the woman had hers on her left upper arm. Shoma had never seen a Konohagakure shinobi before, but some of his friends had and told the tale often, and he recognized the emblem of the village instantly. The young girl didn't seem to bear the insignia, but that made sense. Genin, Shoma remembered, were usually older kids. Shoma made it his business to offer them a refill as soon as they had finished their pot, taking the opportunity to listen in to snippets of the conversation.
Over the course of the afternoon, he had collected enough tidbits to construct a story about the three. Whether or not it was the true story was irrelevant, for it served its purpose of delivering him from the familiar surroundings of the teahouse to lands far away, some full of clouds, others of sand. He imagined, in the spaces between refills, grand battles between the demi-gods known as shinobi. The man with long hair spoke in cool, even tones, at a cadence that brought to mind the languid gait of a panther through the forest. That man, Shoma had decided, was a master of Genjutsu. He imagined the man weaving and warping reality with the practiced motion of the hand seals shinobi were famous for. The woman spoke less often, apparently content to surrender control of the conversation to the man. She, Shoma thought, must be a Taijutsu specialist, able to paralyze a man with a series of quick, targeted strikes. The little girl, for her part, seemed intent on listening to the two. Shoma gathered that she must be the man's apprentice, and he had brought her to meet an old friend, a kunoichi to look up to. He had heard snippets confirming as much, and suddenly felt a pang of longing. He wondered if he would ever have someone like that, someone more ambitious than his father, who drove him to become something more. More than what, he couldn't say exactly, but... more.
The trio stayed until the sun was about to tuck itself into bed behind the trees, leaving just before dark with a generous tip for their attentive waiter. The tip went into the coffers with the rest of their yen once they had left, of course, but they had given Shoma something more valuable than currency. They'd given him perspective, a glimmer of aspiration. He began learning all that he could about shinobi and the world beyond his village. Most of his understanding came from books he managed to forage from the meager village library, some stylized accounts of actual shinobi experiences, others wild fantasy about men who could move mountains and summon snakes that could encircle the world twice over. He read the basics of chakra theory and learned (his approximation of) the hand seals necessary to perform ninja arts. His friends thought him obsessed, his father often shook his head at the childish folly, but still, he persisted in the hours after the tea shop had closed for the evening. He watched and waited for the trio of shinobi to return, but it was a long three years before his patience was rewarded.
The man had changed little, aside from a few more wrinkles here and there, but the woman had gone noticeably more grey, her once lazy gaze now closer to weary. The little girl was with them as well, though she, like Shoma, had begun growing into herself. She wore a headband now, though hers was around her right thigh. She'd gone from quiet and obviously a bit awestruck with the woman to a bit loud, clearly opinionated. The three took up the same seats they had monopolized in the past, but this time the conversation was markedly different. Most of what Shoma gathered, having assumed his customary position as tea-refiller, came from the girl who he now knew was named Aika. It seemed they had returned to celebrate her graduation from the academy and elevation to the rank of Genin. They'd come back to the tea shop as it was the first place the man, who she simply called Sensei, had taken her after her assignment to his class.
There it was again, the feeling of having missed out. Shoma wondered as he waited, what would it be like to have a mentor, an adult engaged enough with the world and with him as to properly show him the way. He glanced guiltily at his father, knowing that Kioshi had always done the best he could manage. It was just, well his best sometimes wasn't what Shoma needed. He turned back to the trio at the table, and suddenly, as if taking off a mask he'd worn his whole life, Shoma did something very out of character. He cleared his throat, strode to the side of the table, and said, "Excuse me, may I ask a question?"
The master, his former student, and the older woman all turned to look at him. It occurred to Shoma that the world was a much more comfortable place when held in the confines of his imagination, but he'd let his imagination leak into reality now, and he would have to finish what he'd started. He gulped and continued, "I was wondering if I could ask you about the ninja academy. Do they take just anyone?"
The girl barked a laugh, cut short by a terse glance from her sensei. The woman looked appraisingly at Shoma but didn't respond. It was the man who spoke like a predator stalking its prey who replied, "They take anyone with the aptitude, but you're a bit old now. You'd probably be a Genin at this age."
"Yeah, you're probably not much older than me, and I made Genin yesterday!", the girl chimed in, and was rewarded with another glance built to stop a deer in its tracks.
Shoma's face went from a rosy pink to beet red.
"Oh, ok. I guess I'm too old, huh?"
The girl promptly nodded, the man's eyes let through something akin to sympathy, Shoma thought absently that must be what passed for a look of remorse in the animal world, but the woman interjected,
"I have heard of children beginning classes as late as you. It's not impossible, though you would be with children much younger and much more experienced than you are."
"That's alright, I don't mind"
The words were spilling out faster than his mind could form them at this point. He wasn't sure if the woman's comment had been encouragement or simple statement of fact, but it rang something of hope.
"I was wondering if you might tell me how to join, if it's not too much trouble. I've been wanting to go ever since I saw you here last time, but nobody from my village has become a shinobi, and my dad doesn't know much about it, but I was hoping you might be able to tell me, please."
The man and his student were looking at the woman now, keen interest written all over their faces.
"The entrance exam will be held in a few weeks' time, but you would need to live in Konohagakure, and there's no guarantee you would be admitted at your age. You should talk with your father about it, if it's something that you really want to do."
"I will, I will. Thank you! Uh... would you like more tea?"
At that, the three of them laughed. Shoma could see his father shaking his head from the corner of his eye, hands moving in that practiced circular patter as he wiped a tea cup dry. He knew it would be a difficult conversation, but somehow he thought he knew what the answer would be. His father would likely be... if not happier, then maybe not as constantly sad without him around.
Three weeks later, Uchima Shoma stood at the front door of the Konohagakure Ninja Academy, surrounded mostly by children 4 to 2 years his junior, attracting curious looks from teachers and parents alike. He clutched his acceptance letter in one hand and fiddled with his mother's copper bracelet with the other. It was the only thing he had of hers, and while he'd never known her, he sometimes felt that he could feel her, just a little bit when he touched it. He'd imagined sometimes what his father might have been like if he hadn't had to trade her for Shoma. Maybe, in a small way, he was about to find out. He took a deep breath, strode through the threshold, and began looking for a door marked "Chakra 101". Thus he began the first steps of the rest of his life.
Bloodline/Core ability: None yet
