Tetsuki stares at the card in her hand.
Not her card–with its sparse, two prong objective–but Naruto Uzumaki’s card and its impossible instructions.
“This is a third of the class,” Tetsuki says, brows furrowed in consternation, “This is impossible.”
Technically, Naruto Uzumaki’s objective is also only two parts. The first being “collect five armbands.” The second being “collect five tokens.”
Of course, taking their other sector mates as the norm–one token or armband each–that would be ten people.
“Why would Yanagi-sensei do this to you? This is impossible,” she repeats, dumbly, as if Naruto Uzumaki weren’t completely aware of what the instructions on his card meant.
Somehow his face twists into a combination of defiance and bitter, unsurprised resignation, shoulders hunched up protectively, like a feral cat when confronted.
“Yeah, well, I’m still gonna try,” he mutters, but he doesn’t even sound convinced himself.
Awkwardly, Tetsuki hands him back his card, unsure what–if anything–she should say.
Life isn’t fair. Of course it isn’t. That’s one lesson she learned early on watching other children with parents, with family, with anyone beyond the impersonal reach of a government run orphanage. She knows that sometimes–no matter how hard you work, no matter how polite you are, no matter how much you really want it–life is unsympathetic.
Naruto Uzumaki knows this, too. An orphan just like her with the same scrawny, underfed and sallow look of someone who has to fend for themselves because there is no one else to fend for them. Life isn’t fair; it’s harsh and demanding and never about want or deserve or even need.
It’s never been so obviously targeted at her like this, though. Life isn’t fair because life is uncaring. This isn’t fair because someone is actively making it so–
“Here,” Naruto Uzumaki says, handing over card and token both. “One of us might as well pass this stupid thing.”
–and yet, something in him is still kind, still generous.
“Hey!” she says as he begins to walk away.
He turns back to look at her, confused.
“A deal’s a deal, right?,” she asks, bravado burbling up and out of some part of her that hasn’t gone completely cold and steely. “You help me, and I help you.”
This isn’t about being friendly, not about reciprocating kindness. It’s not even about honoring their flimsy deal, not really: life isn’t fair and nothing can change that–but there are two ways to respond.
Give up or fight back.
JackSGreyson Says 