After five years of being in the same class, Tetsuki is a little ashamed to say she’s only really on speaking terms with a few of her classmates.
It’s a matter of time, is all. Or scheduling, rather.
If she’s not at school, then she’s working. If she’s not working then she’s training. She’s quite behind some of her classmates: especially the ones who have the full support of a clan, tips and tricks passed down from older relatives who serve, generations of honing their members into efficient shinobi.
But even the ones from civilian families–those who don’t have to worry about where their next meal will come from, or how they’ll pay for their school supplies, or even just have an adult presence in their lives who put them first unconditionally–have advantages over her that she must work hard to compensate for.
It’s nobody’s fault. Not really.
Tetsuki is just one of many orphans of Konoha; a babe found in the rubble of the Kyuubi Attack’s aftermath.
TenTen is another.
Talking to someone who has the same background as her is just easier. Someone who understands what she’s going through, who knows what it’s like to crawl and claw and carve their way up and out. Perhaps it’s elitism of its own in a backwards, twisted way.
And also, Hikari-san orders kunai in bulk from the armory TenTen works at, so the two of them often see each other in a work setting. Passing off a storage scroll of kunai like a baton in a relay race or getting shooed away whenever the adults renegotiate prices.
Talking during taijutsu class–during the practice matches–isn’t outrightly forbidden, so long as it isn’t a distraction. But it’s pretty much expected. There’s only so many combinations of sparring partners available, after all.
After five years, even watching Neji Hyuuga stomp his opponent into the ground gets boring no matter how elegantly he does it.
Tetsuki leans in close–more out of politeness than any real attempt at concealment, if someone really wanted to listen they could–and asks about the four new students in their class.
Old students, TenTen corrects, from last year’s graduating class that failed to do just that. Determined and optimistic, Yanagi-sensei had said. Stubborn, foolish, a waste of his time, he didn’t need to say.
One shining example of that being Rock Lee who everyone knows can’t do even the basic three which requires the minimum amount of chakra. It’s no surprise that he failed. Just as it isn’t a surprise that he’d come back for more, a glutton for punishment. What he’s expecting to change in this year is a mystery to everyone.
There’s another boy and a girl, neither of whom seem remarkable in any way–not enough for TenTen to point out beyond a nod in their directions and their names.
But the final boy–short, blonde, and in eye catching orange–TenTen has more. “He’s younger than us.”
With a confused, prompting look, she continues, “He used to be at Enshoku with me, though he left before I did. I always thought it was because he got adopted out…”
At an orphanage such a thing is less a dream and more a miracle, both of them would know.
“… but he still has the same name as before.”
A second, more confused, prompting look. Why would getting adopted change someone’s name? That’s just asking for identity crises.
“Well, same names. He has the same surname.”
Which both clarifies things and brings up more questions. Why would someone with a surname be at an orphanage with TenTen? If they have a surname then they must have–a clan or a family or some trace of guardianship; a distant relative, a godparent, their parents’ teammates, a legal tie of some kind–someone who would take on a child rather than leave him to an orphanage with less than no support system.
Tetsuki is sure TenTen has had the same thoughts and, also, found no answers. It just doesn’t make any sense.
As Neji Hyuuga’s short lived spar comes to a close, TenTen concludes, “Naruto Uzumaki.”
~
A/N: Which is of no surprise to anyone 😛
JackSGreyson Says 