The cause of it all was shame.
Shame. Embarrassment. Humiliation. Mortification.
Her successor felt endless amounts of shame. Uzumaki Mito, now Namikaze Mito, watched as her successor, her mother, threw herself into training with the Adamantine Chakra Chains. Dozens of chains formed on the Uzumaki Clan Training Grounds, soaring into the air, slashing at wooden dummies and kunai being tossed at her from different locations.
Mito could still sense Negative Emotions, and she could sense the bitterness and shame that bubbled in her successor's heart, as she controlled the chains to attack, defend, and pushed herself to the limit, shaking from head to toe with sweat. While she watched, she sat in the lap of a Shadow Clone, who gently combed her hair.
Beside her, there was another Shadow Clone, braiding the hair of her granddaughter. A woman who should be pushing close to her late forties, but instead, appeared as a girl in her late teens, entering her early twenties.
Her granddaughter was both the bane and the saviour of her existence.
Mito had thought it would not take too long for Namikaze Minato, the man to whom she was now meant to address as her father, would notice something amiss. She could not recall how to act as a child convincingly to bypass suspicion, and her approach was to be silent, to be withdrawn, to only speak when spoken to, to speak shortly and in sparse sentences, to stumble, mumble, and intentionally mispronounce words.
She believed that such an act would eventually incite suspicion. She was prepared to, if need be, reveal her true identity.
However, her granddaughter prevented that from happening.
"You don't need to train this hard, Kushina," Tsunade said, with a snort. "It's not like he's going to leave you for another woman. You're the mother of his kids. Three of them, even."
The woman turned her gaze up to one of the nearby trees. "Hey, Sakumo's brat, do you know what's going on? No one will tell me."
The ANBU, the son of Hatake Sakumo, who watched them at all times, only gave a curt reply. "No, Tsunade-sama."
It was a lie.
This is because of you, foolish child.
Tsunade had driven a wedge in the marriage between Namikaze Minato and his wife, her successor, Kushina. Namikaze had allowed the Yamanaka Clan Head to erase a significant portion of her granddaughter's memories for her sake and the safety of others.
Kushina had been appalled. Her 'mother' had not believed that her husband was capable of giving such an order.
She had doubted it. Denied it. She outright believed her husband, Namikaze Minato, would never do such a thing. Upon heading to the hospital and confirming it for herself, it began a series of events beyond her expectations.
She had an argument with her husband. A long, bitter, vitriolic argument that, either due to forgetting or due to not caring, had not been subdued with silencing seals, which meant everyone in the Uzumaki Clan Household had heard of it. She, her sister, and her brother heard for the first time their parents screaming at each other. Rather, they heard Kushina screaming one-sidedly at Minato, who, as always, responded calmly and quietly.
The man had been ready to accept her vitriol and anger and wrath, but her successor had overstepped in her indignation. She asked whether or not he had conspired with his mentor to erase her granddaughter's memories, so that Jiraiya would be able to accomplish his dream of winning the heart of his true love.
It was a heavy accusation. Mito had clicked her tongue upon hearing it. Kushina had always been rambunctious, fearless, and wore her thoughts and emotions on her sleeve. She was direct, honest, and forthright, and, whilst admirable in many ways, she forgot that her husband was not only her husband, but the leader of the village. Sacrifices had to be made, and the burden of hard decisions rested on his shoulders.
The man had not had an easy time making the decision, but for his own wife to imply he abused his position of power for personal benefit?
Even she, as Hashirama's wife, had never been that foolish.
"Do you really think so little of me, Kushina-chan?"
Mito, with her ability to sense emotions, became aware that the woman had hurt him. Genuinely, perhaps for the first time, she truly hurt the man with her words. Her foolish successor had sensed as well, then, that she had gone too far. She was aware she had overstepped. Though her temper was always the worst thing about her, she knew when to apologize.
The problem was, prior to the whole thing, she was already overflowing with shame.
Mito felt it pouring and rolling from her in waves and torrents. Shame. The cause, Mito learned, was that during the mission to retrieve her granddaughter Tsunade, she had been rendered helpless, and her life had to be saved by a group of Genin. Her successor was ashamed because it was her idea to go with a group of Genin to meet her granddaughter, and she, the sole Jōnin and the one who needed to be responsible for the lives of others, had been rendered incapacitated. She was ashamed because she was aware that if Minato had chosen any other Genin team, it was likely she would have died on the mission, leaving her husband a widower, and leaving her three children without their mother.
She was already ashamed. Burning with shame for her recklessness and irresponsibility, burning with shame that her husband had been right, and burning with shame that he had been the one, who, with his foresight, had saved her life and prevented a tragedy.
Shame had held her by her throat, and at that moment, after making that accusation, she became even more ashamed, for doubting her husband. She was so ashamed she burst into tears, into a weeping, incoherent mess. It was her husband who had to console her, comfort her, and stop her tears.
Mito was aware of the stereotype that persisted that when a couple argued, a man would always be the one to apologize even if he was the one wronged, and that stereotype had played itself in front of her. A 'happy wife, happy life' ideology that absolves women of accountability for their part in an argument.
She had hurt him, yet he was the one who had to apologize and wipe her tears.
Things between them were strained significantly afterward.
Namikaze Minato was suddenly more absent at dinners and busier at work. Whenever he was home, he spoke in a curt, polite, and cordial manner to his wife, as though she were a business associate. The woman, in turn, noticed this, and then, it occurred to her that she had never apologized for the accusation.
By the time she provided the apology, it was too late.
The wound had festered. A band-aid of words would not fix it.
Due to it all, not a single soul had noticed the oddities Mito displayed in personality or mannerisms. Her mother was too busy being ashamed and terrified that her careless words and actions had cost her the love of her husband, and her father was busy as the Hokage, burdened with duties, responsibilities, and now, battling with the emotional wounds his wife inflicted on him.
Neither of them had noticed the fact that Mito was acting oddly or differently.
She was fortunate that they were her family, and she had no ill will towards them, but she shuddered to think of the ramifications if she had malicious intent. How long would they have noticed something amiss with their eldest daughter? Or perhaps, if they did notice, would they chalk it up to a result of her sensing the tension in their marriage?
Mito did not want to think of it.
Could this be Master Zi Wuji's doing?
Had the man somehow foreseen this chain of events when he took her soul and merged it with that of her successor's daughter? Had he known she wouldn't be discovered? The thought of it almost made her shudder. What level of foresight would one need to possess to plot and plan so intimately?
Her heart skipped a beat, thinking of how the man's breath had tickled her ear as he whispered those words.
Worthy.
"Tsunade-ba-chan... can you use chakra chains?"
Her granddaughter lifted a brow. "Don't call me that."
You think I wish to refer to you like that, you petulant brat? Mito was swallowing her anger. I used to change your diapers and spank you over my knee!
"Call me nee-chan. Got it?"
"Tsunade… nee-chan," Mito said, through barely gritted teeth. "You didn't answer my question."
"Chakra chains? I've never been able to use them. My Uzumaki blood isn't pure enough."
"Weren't you in the hospital? Didn't they fix it?" she asked, again, with all the fake innocence of a child she could muster.
"You can't fix blood..." She shook her head before pausing. "Well, not... exactly. But…"
Tsunade extended a pitch black tendril from her fingertips. Slowly, she waved it about, knitting and turning it until it became a chain.
"What is that?"
"They said it was a result of one of my kinjutsu, forbidden techniques, that went wrong… which is why I can't remember anything. But I can't think of a reason why I would ever create a kinjutsu like this… It's creepy."
"I—it's best not to think of it, ttebane," Kushina's Shadow Clone spoke hurriedly. "They said your memories will… come back in time."
"They did," Tsunade nodded. "I can't believe that Jiraiya is so old… or that sensei is so old… or that you have three brats and I'm the godmother of two of them… I feel like there's so much I'm missing."
"You just need to take things slow," the other Shadow Clone said. "Slow."
"Right… right," Tsunade snorted. "Come to think of it… Kushina, should I teach Mito-chan medical ninjutsu?"
"What?"
"I was thinking I might as well take on an apprentice…" Tsunade rubbed her brows. "I don't know why, but it feels like something I would do… if she's my goddaughter, I might as well make her my apprentice."
"Biwako-chan would be better suited for that," Mito declined politely. "I want to focus on fūinjutsu."
"Fūinjutsu?" Her mother's clones stared at her. "You want to focus on fūinjutsu, Mito-chan?"
"Well, you did name her after my grandmother," Tsunade laughed. "I still remember her. Stubborn. Stern. Old-fashioned. Always nagging at me, confiscating my sweets, telling me not to gamble… she was grouchy and strict and meaner than anyone I knew."
Brat… Mito's brows were twitching.
"But she loved fūinjutsu," Tsunade continued. "More than anything. I think she loved it more than my grandfather even. I think… because I never really took up the art, because I never walked in her footsteps, she loved me less for it."
Mito's saliva choked in her throat. I— that's not — that's what you thought?
"She… probably loved you more than you know."
Tsunade laughed. "Maybe. If she did… she had a funny way of showing it. She always made me feel like… I wasn't worthy of being her granddaughter."
A lump formed in Mito's throat.
You… no, you foolish child, I never… I never intended to… I only wanted you to…
She tried to swallow, but couldn't.
You felt… You weren't… worthy?
She had thought Master Zi Wuji had put her in her granddaughter's body for some plot or scheme, and his goal, his true goal, was to mold her into some sort of servant for his purposes. She believed this second chance at life existed for some diabolical scheme. However, now…
She saw her successor struggling from the consequences of her words and actions, due to lacking the temperance and grace needed of the Hokage's Wife. She saw her granddaughter, whose memories had to be wiped, who had been burdened by the expectations on her shoulders since she could walk…
Dullard, he called her.
Not worthy, he told her.
She had not seen it. She had not understood.
Was his true purpose… all along…?
Both her foolish successor and her foolish granddaughter needed her. One needed to understand what was needed of her as the Hokage's Wife and the loneliness of being a Jinchūriki. The other needed to understand not only how to cope with the pain of loss, but also how to live past the shadow of the greatness of others.
Both were things that few could help them with.
Things that she could help them with.
Do you believe in Fate?
She needed to help her family.
If all you have accomplished in your life is a result of the circumstances of your birth… is such a thing immaterial?
She needed to help the women of her family.
Worthy.
Her task, the requirement of 'worthiness' all along, was to uplift the women of the Uzumaki Clan.
But why? Why give me such a—
Choice.
The greatest power of them all is choice.
Mito's back grew wet with sweat. Could it be… all along, Master Zi Wuji was actually…
Most records about the clan's founding were burned to the ground during the fall of Uzushiogakure. However, there were records, indeed, that their clan originated from the same ancestor as the Senju, which had branched and split. Thus, if there was such a person, such a figure…
Zi Wuji… the Zodiac Formation King…
She decided not to think of it further. Her task remained the same. Her job, her mission, was clear.
She would help her family.
She would make up for the mistakes she had made.
She would make the women of her family 'Worthy.'
Not worthy of a man, but worthy of a name that once shook the hearts of all shinobi across the world.
Worthy of being called:
Uzumaki.
Desolation of the Caged Bird"YOSH! BEGIN!"
Itachi had always been the sort of person who did not train with others. Not due to a need to hide his techniques, nor due to some sense of worrying about others seeing his attempts before perfection, but merely because there had never been a need for others to provide guidance or assistance to him before.
He learned quickly, mastering concepts and ideas swiftly. He understood things that took others years and months to grasp in weeks or days, and that gap made training with others inefficient and unnecessary.
At least, until now.
The fight was over before it began. The boy's movement technique was something he had seen many times with his Sharingan, and something he had considered at least three ways to disrupt. All three ways, however, were impossible to utilize at close range. Asking for a spar, and then telling the opponent to start at a significant distance away so he could have the advantage was not something Uchiha Itachi did.
No, asking for spars in general was something he scarcely did. There were few reasons to do so, there were few motivations, and few ways he could improve by testing himself against others. He was not a blade that was honed against other swords; he was a blade that could only be sharpened by itself, a whetstone and weapon born in one.
However, Hyūga Neji was a wall.
Before him, when he saw the boy's tiny figure, his straightened back, his sharp, piercing gaze, his calculative and cunning methods, Uchiha Itachi saw a giant wall. The feeling was unlike anything he had ever felt, and it was something that sparked a flame within him he had not known he possessed.
Seeing his performance during their last mission, despite it officially being the boy's first ever mission as a shinobi, Uchiha Itachi questioned whether or not the denizens of Konohagakure no Sato had been too hasty to decry him a genius. They had not seen what true genius was. The Wall that was Hyūga Neji reached the peaks of the skies, and Itachi found himself with a need to know just where the limits lay.
One moment, Hyūga Neji was a distance away, the next, a palm strike, would have connected to his forehead was in front of him.
Speed.
"Once more."
The boy returned to his starting position. Their sensei lifted his hand into the air. Guy, with his eyes burning afire, brought his hand down with a chop.
"YOSH!"
The cry of YOSH! was the signal. Hyūga Neji blurred forward. Itachi blurred as well. The Shunshin, the Body Flicker Technique, something he had always known and always seen Shisui utilize, pushing it to such mastery that he was renowned for it, came to life all at once. Hyūga Neji's eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second, and there, again, was a hint of approval.
Itachi was not Shisui. It would be arrogant, if not outright conceited, to admit he was better than Shisui. However, before Hyūga Neji, Itachi did not feel that such a claim was arrogant. He had watched and experienced Shisui use the Body Flicker and maintain his ability to maneuver by relying on the Sharingan, and Itachi was well aware of the methods that were used. That he never imitated it was because he had never needed to.
Two boys became a blur on Training Ground 10. One, a blur of white, the other, a blur of black. Using the Body Flicker Technique to keep up with Hyūga Neji's speed, his Sharingan spun rapidly and furiously, and they entered a deadly, dangerous dance. Palm strikes blurred in his vision, each one well targeted, aiming for spots that would debilitate and cripple if they were to connect. He drew his tanto, tracing the path of the strikes, and making a move to intercept them. The paths changed, and his tanto trajectory changed, and the paths changed again, and his trajectory changed again.
Within the span of a second, all attempts to attack were countered, and all attempts to defend were countered. They circled around each other faster and faster that a whirlwind formed between them, circled faster and faster that they became a tornado of white and black, and afterimages of themselves formed.
Were he fighting any other enemy, afterimages of himself would be used within the tornado to fool their senses, as the Body Flicker Technique was pushed to the absolute limit. Such a method was useless against the Hyūga.
Were he fighting any other enemy, genjutsu would be utilized to throw off their senses and allow for victory. Such a method was useless against the Hyūga.
Were he fighting any other enemy, he would be able to form hand signs fast enough to perform ninjutsu that would turn the tide in his favor. Such a method, once more, was useless against the Hyūga, whose speed would be enough to interrupt him before a single hand sign could be made.
Ninjutsu. Taijutsu. Genjutsu.
The three facets of shinobi arts were all of limited use against Hyūga Neji.
Such a well-balanced shinobi was rare to find in Konoha, no, in the entire Elemental Nations, the entire world. Thus was the size of the wall in front of him, and the challenge he needed to overcome. Might Guy had been able to overpower him through sheer speed, but Itachi could not move that fast, and had not trained to move that fast. Merely keeping up with him, pushing the Body Flicker as he did to its extremes, was putting a significant strain on his body.
Despite this, Itachi's blood pumped faster and faster in his ears, and he saw, through the afterimages he left behind... that he was smiling.
He?
Few things made him smile. The day his mother announced she was pregnant. The first day he held Sasuke-kun in his arms, and saw his baby brother hold his finger. Carrying his little brother on his shoulders, going about the village with him, and buying him sweets.
Now, merely sparring against Hyūga Neji, he was smiling.
Why? He did not know. He was frustrated at the wall in front of him, his mind sought answers to solve the unsolvable equation before him. He wanted to find a method to break down this wall; he wanted to find a means to overcome it, more than anything, and in that frustration, that desire, there was glee.
There was joy.
Since he was born, for as long as he could remember, there had never been a problem he could not solve.
In finding one, for the first time,
Itachi felt the joy of a challenge.
Without hesitation, he began forming hand signs. As he predicted. Hyūga Neji lunged forward to intercept him. Rather than stop, he thrust his hand forward and met Hyūga Neji's, forcibly connecting their hands and moving them into the position needed for hand signs. Using the boy's own hands to complete his jutsu had brought a flash of surprise to the Hyūga's face. A flash of surprise that vanished as Itachi spat forth a giant fireball at point-blank range.
The tornado of black and white caught ablaze. Hyūga Neji leapt out of one side, avoiding the brunt of the flames, and he leapt out of the other. With distance formed between them, he formed hand signs again. His brain ran through multiple simulations of tactics, and each and every single one failed. Creating a clone and hiding under the earth would have ambushed anyone, but not someone with the Byakugan. Creating a smokescreen to obscure vision would have worked on anyone, but not someone with the Byakugan.
Those eyes, which saw in all directions and saw even underground, limited the effectiveness of nearly all conventional tactics. That left only the unconventional methods. To defend himself from the Gentle Fist, Itachi expelled fire-natured chakra out of his lungs, the basis of the fireball technique, but he delayed it. Then, he molded earth nature chakra, as he unleashed the fireball, he slammed his hands into the earth. The fireball travelled into the earth softened by the earth nature chakra, and superheated it instantly. The earth around him melted and bubbled, and a vast pool of molten earth and magma separated him and his opponent. Bubbling out of the lava were massive, uneven, jagged earthen caltrops that filled the entire training ground.
As Hyūga Neji approached, his technique, which he used to glide frictionlessly across the earth, had to be stopped. Molten magma was not earth. It was not water. Due to the unevenness of the terrain, the chakra control needed for his technique magnified tenfold. Now he needed to account for every tiny difference, to account for parts of molten earth, solid parts, parts that were semi-solid, and the earthen caltrops.
While a shinobi could walk on the sea effortlessly, they could not do so if the viscosity of the sea changed at random, and some portions were land, while others were sticky and gooey, and the sea was filled with piranhas that would injure them if they were careless.
There are few methods to take down Hyūga Neji. One is to be like Sensei, and outspeed him, landing a clear, solid hit before he can react.
Another is to limit his range of movement, then commence a long-range rapid fire barrage of attacks to overwhelm him from all directions--
Itachi bit his finger and slammed it, now down, but upwards.
A loud explosion of smoke covered the area, and then there were crows.
Crows, by the thousands.
They circled about in the air, but made not a sound. Their wings were silent, as they'd been crossbred with owls. Their breaths were all connected as one, and the crows neither shrieked nor screamed, neither cawed nor crowed. Hyūga Neji stared at the crows, for the second time, with genuine surprise.
This technique, I created....
Itachi pointed with a finger towards the Hyūga.
For you.
"Kuchiyose no Jutsu: Karasu Satsujin."
Summoning Technique: Murder of Crows.
All the crows let out an ear-piercing shriek. A caw that deafened the training grounds. The sound filled up the sky, akin to rumbling thunder. The crows flew as one, forming a living cloud, a mass of blackness that turned day into night.
The crows lunged forward, slamming forward one after the other with reckless, suicidal abandon. Hyūga Neji dodged the first, the second, but the crows swarmed him in a tornado, and attacked from all directions, from all corners. Embodying the concept of kamikaze, as if spurred on by the gods of wind, the barrage of crows sacrificed their lives with one and only one purpose: to take down the enemy with them.
"Jūkenhō: Hakke Rokujūyon Shō!"
Within the center of the swarm, Hyūga Neji's palms became an inescapable blur. The crows were struck down before they struck him, his palms moving faster and faster. The Eight Trigrams: Sixty Four Palms that Itachi had seen once before created a near-perfect defensive shell, but Itachi was aware that it would not be enough. He had taken that technique into account when creating the Karasu Satsujin.
I've used seventy percent of my remaining chakra on this technique... But... knowing Hyūga Neji...
Itachi did not believe Hyūga Neji truly could be taken down by this. It was his gut, innate, instinctual feeling, that the boy, all along, had been holding back. He believed that what Hyūga Neji had shown everyone was merely the tip of the iceberg; it was merely the surface.
How much are you truly hiding?
Just as it appeared the crows would overwhelm him--
Hyūga Neji began to move even faster.
"Jūkenhō: Hakke Hyaku Nijūhasshō!"
Itachi's eyes went wide.
Eight Trigrams: One Hundred and Twenty-Eight Palms.
He could no longer follow the boy's palm strikes with his eyes. His Sharingan spun as fast as it could, but even then, it was a blur. An unseeable, undeterminable blur. To his eyes, Hyūga Neji had manifested one hundred arms all out of his body. Each strike of his palm hit two crows at once, then the next hit four, then sixteen, then thirty-six, then sixty-four...
Wind formed around him from the sheer speed of his motions. The crows were falling at an unbelievable rate, and just then, when it seemed he would run out of steam, he uttered words that defied common sense.
"Jūkenhō: Hakke Nihyaku Gojūroku Shō!"
Booms began to echo out in the air as the barrier of sound shattered. Before, he had thought he had seen the limits of Hyūga Neji's genius, but now, Itachi understood, even he, had been grossly mistaken.
Eight Trigrams: Two Hundred and Fifty-Six Palms.
To his knowledge, the Sixty-Four Palms was said to be the ultimate offensive technique of the Hyūga Clan's Gentle Fist. There was nothing, no one, who had gone beyond it. Yet, the boy before him had not only improved it and doubled the number of palms, he had also doubled the improvement. Without a doubt, his achievement would be recorded in his clan, heralded, praised, and remembered for all time. He had contributed to the development of his clan's signature technique, taking what was given and improving it for those in the future.
Are there any signature techniques of my clan I have strived hard to improve?
The Wall before him, Itachi saw now, was as a result in the differences of how they approached and used what they were given. Hyūga Neji took what he had and pushed it to the peak, improving and polishing, growing and developing it. He treated his taijutsu as though it were alive, as though it were something to be fed, to be nurtured, to be grown, to be...
Cultivated.
Itachi did not know why that word stuck in his mind, but it fit.
Hyūga Neji cultivates his techniques and his arts... he is like a farmer, watering and fertilizing his crops, watching little shoots grow higher and taller.
To cultivate one's techniques, to improve them, to keep improving them, to keep searching for where the limits were... was that, therefore, the hallmark of true genius?
I see.
Uchiha Itachi had an epiphany.
To seek constant improvement.
To constantly cultivate oneself and one's techniques.
That is what separates him from me.
The final of his crows fell to the ground. Hyūga Neji stood in the center of hundreds of dead crows, his palms wafting steam. On the ground before him, his feet and motions had formed the Taiji, it had been etched and burned into the ground from the power of his movements. The boy looked towards him, smiling brightly, before he brought his palms together and bowed.
"Shall we call this a draw, Uchiha-san?"
A draw.
Hyūga Neji had burned a lot of stamina using that technique. Given his age, it was already miraculous he was still standing. If the spar were to continue, he would win by outlasting his opponent in a battle of attrition. Yet, this was not the victory Itachi wanted. To begin with, his opponent was younger than him, and winning by attrition was meaningless in a spar meant to test and probe the depths of each other's techniques and methods.
Slowly, Itachi nodded.
With that, their first-ever proper spar ended in a draw.
"YOSH! ITACHI-KUN! NEJI-KUN! YOU BOTH BURNED WITH YOOUUUUUTTHH!"
Might Guy swept them both under his arms faster than Itachi could blink, enthusing about the merits of their fight. Over in the distance, Itachi saw Mitarashi, silent, with her arms crossed under her chest, saying not a single word.
"Master, if you would not mind... I have... clan business to attend to."
Hyūga Neji squirmed his way out of Guy's embrace and skulked off, and Itachi stared at his departing figure, deep in thought.
"Itachi-kun? Is something on your mind?"
"Sensei..." Itachi paused. "How do I start training with weights?"
Might Guy's dazzling smile blinded his Sharingan.