When Miyu was twelve, she saw men clash with real weapons for the first time. Growing up in the poor, dilapidated alleyways of a city meant that she had been exposed to fighting before. Just not the very refined kind. One that spoke more of hunger and desperation, or of drunken rage, more than any real skill.
She knows the sound a fist makes as it meets a face, can tell when the thud of a body hitting the floor means that the victim won’t be getting up again.
Her childhood had been a series of running, of hiding in dumpsters and dodging into alcoves, just missing the reach of sloppy, unskilled predators.
It had still stunned her to see swords in the flesh, and the spray of blood that accompanied them had frozen her to her spot in horror.
But this is not like that.
She stands at the edge of the training ground, Ensui yawning lazily at her side as Itachi and Sasuke train.
Comparing the brash blundering of the men who had put her in a chains to the fight happening before her now would be an injustice.
The brothers clash again, and Miyu’s hair is blasted back from her face in a wave of heat. Giant fire dragons battle, lightning crackles and chirps, the craw of crows and the clash of weapons – and she cannot look away.
The ground shudders as Itachi redirects a strike from Sasuke, a lightning-encased hand impacting the earth instead.
They blur into movement, and she catches actual glimpses of them only fleetingly, but their techniques of earth and fire and water and lightning erupt into life with huge bursts of sound and heat and the strangely salty spray of water.
It’s breathtaking to witness.
Ninja really are in a league of their own.
She glances down at her own hands, pulling them from her yukata sleeves to take them in. They’re small, pale, soft. No callouses or scrapes. A few old scars from a childhood spent in dangerous places without supervision, but nothing fresh.
What could she have been if she had been born in Konoha? Would these hands mould into different shapes, let her wield real power to violent ends, or –
Her hands glow with orange light as two huge fireballs clash in the sky, and Miyu’s gaze is wrenched up to watch them.
It’s stunning. Like two suns that burn hot and bright and terrible.
Itachi’s hands, that touch her so gently also shape these techniques and wield weaponry meant to hurt.
His mouth, now fuelling arcs of flame, also kisses her softly.
She has never seen ninja fight before this – and even now, they’re not truly fighting, only training – but she thinks it almost impossible that anyone could possibly surpass him.
As Sasuke is thrown across the training ground, impacting with the tree line in the distance, she’s sure of it.
“Amazing,” she murmurs, watching as Itachi disappears from her line of sight. An explosion sounds from the direction Sasuke had been thrown, and she peers into the distance, entranced.
“Are all ninja battles like this?”
Ensui snorts, and she sees him shake his head from the corner of her eye.
“Not all,” he drawls dryly, watching with her as a plume of flames sets a few trees alight in the distance. “Ninja are often categorised by skill, outside of the genin-chuunin-jounin rank assessment.”
Miyu listens intently, not flinching as a wall of earth blocks a huge wave of water at the other end of the training field.
“Techniques that use chakra to manipulate elements are broken into six groups – the lowest being the easiest to perform, and the highest being individualised, or even top-secret. Those are called A-rank and S-rank, and ninja that can perform them are usually…”
He trails off as a flock of crows surges in the wake of a lightning attack.
“…immensely powerful,” he finishes with a wry smile.
Powerful, Miyu thinks, watching Itachi and Sasuke clash again. How weak they must think civilians are.
Biting her lip at the sudden surge of insecurity, she turns to Ensui and bows shallowly, “I’ve… got to go. See you later, Ensui-san.”
She makes her way back to the village proper, lost in thought. The conversation she overheard months ago between Kakashi and Itachi replays in her head.
Gods, he was right. She’s so… fragile. And ninja, bred and trained for a life of fighting, aren’t.
Closer to the market district, she notices a ginger cat cleaning it’s face with its paws. Her head tilts back, looking up at the sky for any sign of clouds. Masa had been a staunch believer that cats cleaning their own faces meant rain would shortly follow.
She presses her lips together at the thought of the woman.
If Miyu had been a ninja, could she have saved Masa and the others from choking on thick smoke? From being burnt alive, or crushed by beams, or -
Sometimes, Miyu feels like she’s moving on with life.
Sometimes, though. Sometimes she doesn’t.
.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you?” Itachi’s hovering, while cute, is unnecessary.
“I’m sure,” she assures, securing her bun with a hairpin gifted to her by Sasuke. Its body is made up of wood, the same colour as the trunks of the Hashirama trees that surround the village. A glass leaf, swirled artfully to imitate Konoha’s insignia, dangles on a short, silver chain.
It’s beautiful and light, and compliments the green and white kimono she’s donned for today’s ever-important meeting.
“You’re back on the mission roster now,” she smiles at his reflection as she leans towards the mirror to secure her earrings. Another gift from Sasuke, matching the hairpin as a pretty set. “Don’t you have to go? You’ll be late.”
He’s wearing his all-black gear, paired with his grey plated armour, his katana strapped to his back.
“I’m still in village for a little while,” he says, extending a hand to brush it against one of her dangling earrings, “it’s hard to be late when everything is so close together.”
“Maybe close for you,” she tries not to pout in the mirror, “but it’s still a bit of a walk for me. I’d better get going.”
She stands, rises on the tips of her toes to peck him on the lips, and makes for the door. By the time she turns around to shut it, he’s gone.
The chill in the air seems lighter today, the sun shining warmer than it has in weeks. The streets are bustling with mid-morning activity, and Miyu lets herself appreciate it. Children laugh as they play at the nearby fountain, shopkeepers barter and converse at their stalls.
This part of towns seems to be high in ninja roof-traffic, and in the time it takes for her to get to the end of the market street, she counts six blurs of movement above.
Six, and they’re only the ones she noticed.
As she makes her way to the teahouse, she focuses on gathering her thoughts. The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of emotions, situation after situation of Miyu feeling out of control. Her apartment is sparkling clean as a rather fortunate side effect, but the fact that Itachi is hovering and worrying so obviously serves as an effective wake up call.
This isn’t so different from her usual.
She is now faced with various opponents. She knows, approximately, what their end goals are. As of the past few days, she knows what hers is, too.
All she has to do is shift the tiles, wait for countermoves, and continue the game until the board shows the result she wants.
Straightforward when she thinks about it like that.
If only people were as reliable as shogi tiles, and life as predictable as their board.
When she finally enters the tearoom, her guests are already present.
“Nara-sama,” Miyu nods before sitting seiza. Then she bows low. “Yamanaka-sama, Akimichi-sama. It’s an honour to make your acquaintance.”
“Ooh, such a lady, Shika!” a smooth, amused voice sounds, “Totally going to use her as inspiration the next time I’m undercover.”
“You couldn’t emulate her if you tried, Ino. You’re too troublesome.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Sugawara-san. Please, call me Chouji.”
Miyu sits up, eyeing the trio before her. Three clan heirs, two assessing her with interest, one offering her a lazy smile.
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“Sorry, Miyu-san,” the Nara offers her a bow, “I’ll warn you now that this is probably going to be… informal.”
“That’s probably for the best,” she gives him a small, genuine smile. “Thank you for making time in your busy schedules to meet with me.”
“Not a problem, gorgeous,” the Yamanaka – Ino – says with a dazzling smile, “I’ve got a weakness for beautiful things, you see.”
Miyu very resolutely tries not to blush.
“Can’t quit it for five minutes, can you?” Shikamaru grouses, elbowing Ino in the ribs. “Stop trying to flirt with her.”
“But-”
“No buts, Ino,” Chouji’s voice is friendly, gentle, but it gets the blonde woman to pout and fall silent anyway.
“I won’t waste too much of your time,” Miyu nods a greeting to the attendant as a pot of tea is set before them, “and as I’m sure you’re aware, I’d like to discuss the offers sent out by your clans.”
“Go ahead, Sugawara-san,” the Akimichi heir gestures.
“I… am thankful that your clans desire to show their gratitude in a tangible fashion,” she begins, nerves buzzing in her stomach, “and though I am honoured by their offers of marriage, I must decline them.”
Ino’s eyes seem to sparkle with excitement, “Really? Oh man, our dads are gonna be so bummed, they’ve got a lot of cash on who you’ll pick!”
Miyu barely suppresses a wince at that.
“Ah. My sincerest apologies. I have come to the three of you today in hopes that you might provide insight on how those of our generation might… phrase this refusal to a… different generation.”
Chouji runs a large hand through his hair.
“I don’t think you need to worry too much about our three clans, Sugawara-san,” he assures, “however, there are a few clans in Konoha who are more… traditional.”
Hyuuga, Uchiha, Homura, to name a few.
“I’d respond saying you must decline because you’re betrothed to someone else,” Ino says, flipping her hair over her shoulder, “while they’re busy trying to figure out whose offer you accepted, find someone low-profiled to fake an engagement to you that you’ll break off in a few months after everything’s calmed down.”
Miyu blinks at the blonde, considering.
“They won’t be insulted that I’ve accepted an offer outside of the clans?” she queries.
“Mah, maybe,” Ino shrugs, “but it’ll have them squabbling between themselves for long enough that you will probably get away with it.”
“Hmm,” Miyu taps at the rim of her teacup, thinking.
“Miyu-san, please don’t follow any plan Ino comes up with,” Shikamaru appears a little panicked. “They don’t have the best track record of being successful-”
“Hey!” Ino whacks him over the back of the head, “I know human psychology! This one will work for sure!”
“They don’t all fail, Shika,” Chouji is trying to hide his big smile behind his tiny teacup. “That one on our dads worked. Though I will admit, Shikamaru is the strategist on our team for a reason.”
“Not this again,” groans the Nara, pinching at the bridge of his nose before reaching for his own cup.
“Anyway, Miyu-san, I’ve been meaning to ask-” Ino leans forward, excitement glittering in her startling blue eyes, “What’s Uchiha Itachi like in bed?”
Shikamaru promptly chokes on his tea. Chouji flushes a deep pink.
Miyu blinks at her.
“I’ve been dying to find out,” Ino continues, “by far the hottest son of the clan head, and not one snitch willing to spill his secrets.”
Miyu feels laughter bubbling up at the faces of the Nara and Akimichi heirs. She valiantly tries to keep it in.
“Well,” Miyu’s sure her lips are twitching with the urge to laugh, “I’m turning down the clans. I’m here in Konoha. Make of that what you will, Yamanaka-sama.”
Ino slaps a hand to the table, “Details! I want the juicy details, and I want them now-”
“I am so sorry-” Shikamaru is blushing now, too, though it seems to be more out of mortification for Ino’s boldness rather than the actual topic of choice.
“Please,” Miyu finally lets herself giggle, “it’s fine, really. What’s life without a little curiosity?”
“Exactly, Shika!” Ino’s hair whips as she turns her head to look at him. “But really, Miyu-san, why’d you have to give such a non-answer? You hang around Kakashi too much, seriously-”
“Before we move on to lighter topics,” Chouji interrupts seamlessly, “There’ll be no changing your mind on the marriage offers?”
Miyu shakes her head.
“Even though the protection it would give you means you could play shogi in tournaments again?” This question is sharp, even from the ever-respectful lips of the Nara heir.
She knows they have been sent here to try and persuade her to their clan’s suitors.
So Miyu meets his eyes, and with a small, sad smile, shakes her head.
“Ah,” he hums after a moment, letting his head tilt back. He blinks at the ceiling, and she watches his adam’s apple bop as he says, “you really are ruthless, Miyu-san.”
.
Miyu enters the school courtyard, and is grateful at the lack of panic she feels. Classes will be resuming next week, so the teachers have called a meeting to discuss lesson plans and the additional security that is being provided to them.
“Fujimori-san,” she greets with a smile as she steps onto the pristine tatami, “it’s good to see you.”
“Sugawara-san,” the stern woman nods, “the sentiment is returned. I’ve been looking forward to resuming classes as usual.”
“I miss the children,” Miyu confesses, settling at the low table as the other teachers file into the room. “More than I thought I would.”
They exchange greetings with the others, and everyone gets settled as Tanaka goes over the new guard rotation, which will be exclusively made up of special operatives – Miyu learns that they’re colloquially referred to as ‘anbu’, and they briefly summarise where they will be continuing their studies with their respective classes.
They seem to be closing up the meeting when Hirata looks to her.
“Do you have plans to go to the upcoming winter tournament, Sugawara-san?”
She swallows down the pang of hurt that threatens to overwhelm her, and shakes her head, “Not yet, Hirata-san.”
“Really?” Iida questions from the other side of the table, stroking at his chin, “Considering the boy, I thought…”
The table falls into silence. Miyu resolves to not break it.
“What boy?” Abe grouses.
“He… has served as a point of concern for the association,” Iida continues, pushing his rectangular framed glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “For his sudden rise in the rankings.”
The memory rushes back between one blink and the next.
“I have heard some troubling news of late.”
Back at Makishima’s estate, he had tried to warn her of -
“A boy, blazing through the rankings.”
“Why would they be concerned?” Fujimori questions, “Is he particularly young?”
“Sixteen,” Iida replies evenly, “however, he has no previous tournament experience.”
The table falls silent for a moment.
They are all quietly terrified that this boy will win the tournament.
Miyu had been a known evil. A no-name woman from an Okiya in the capital, but one who had fought her way to the top in tournaments since she’d been fourteen.
Iida reaches into his kimono sleeve and places a scroll on the low table.
“What’s this?” Tanaka asks, brow raised.
“An invitation,” Iida clears his throat, “for the highest ranked shogi player in Konoha to compete in the tournament.”
Miyu keeps her unflappable calm as the six teachers all look to her.
“Unfortunately,” she says evenly, “I am unable to attend this year.”
They’re all watching her.
“I hope that you have not been disheartened by the association’s continued refusal to name you Meijin,” Fujimori’s tone is sharp.
Miyu’s face is calm, but she cringes internally.
“No, it’s not due to that,” she very carefully doesn’t divulge the actual reason, “I think Hirata-san would be a suitable challenger.”
The others agree, and the meeting is dismissed. If Miyu walks a little briskly out of the room to avoid conversation, well. That’s her business.
.
Miyu takes her seat in class, pleased to note that Kushina is already at the corner desk.
“Hi, Miyu-san!”
“Hi, Kushina-san. It’s good to see you back.” She smiles at her as she unpacks her things.
“Hello Sugawara-san, Uzumaki-san,” Shiori’s pleasant voice sounds and Miyu turns her head to nod to the woman.
“I heard you had a busy few weeks, huh?” Kushina asks her after sending a bright grin Shiori’s way.
“You could say that,” Miyu sighs, “what about you? How have you been?”
“Oh, I was out of the village for a bit of travelling,” she says lightly, turning her gaze back on the array of calligraphy before her. “A situation required my immediate attention. It’s good to be home now, though. I missed this class!”
“And we missed you,” Iori-sensei chimes as she sweeps into the room, “now, everyone, today we will be partaking in artistic liberties with your brushstrokes!”
Miyu listens as she grinds her ink, quietly fascinated by the circular designs being artfully composed by Kushina out of the corner of her eye.
She begins her own experimentation, starting with her own name. It doesn’t look as terrible as it did the first week, but her strokes are still too thick in some places and not thick enough in others.
“Wow, you’ve really improved!” Kushina sounds elated, “You’re a fast learner.”
“Please,” Miyu shakes her head, “don’t compliment my progress when your work looks like that.”
Kushina’s parchment is filled with a spiral surrounded by kanji. Every stroke is perfect, artful and precise. It’s almost hypnotising to look at.
“Sealing is in my blood,” Kushina waves her off, “I’ve been holding a brush since before I could walk. Don’t compare your own growth to anyone else.”
Miyu tilts her head consideringly. “Sealing?”
The red headed woman nods, letting her eyes roam the page before her. She seems almost… wistful.
“I was originally from Uzushio, you see,” her voice has dropped in volume, barely loud enough for Miyu to hear. “My people were the greatest seal masters in the world before it was destroyed.”
Silence hangs between them for a moment.
“I don’t understand much about it,” Miyu begins tentatively, “but your work is beautiful, Kushina-san. You keep the work and memory of your people alive by continuing to practice this art – or, uh. Technique? Sorry,” she flushes pink as Kushina barks out a laugh, “I’m not sure what it’s categorised as.”
The woman sits up a little straighter, rolling her shoulders back, a small, pleased smile on her face. Miyu hadn’t realised how much she’d sunk in on herself at the mention of her village’s demise.
“Sealing,” Kushina begins, as though in a lecture theatre speaking to hundreds, rather than just Miyu, “is an art, a technique, and a science. It involves using chakra-infused ink in specific arrays in order to achieve whatever outcome the creator desires.”
Miyu watches with interest as Kushina sets her parchment aside and begins a new one.
Her hand glides easily over it, brush held with intent.
“For example, protection. Konoha is surrounded by barrier seals that conceal it, as well as deflect any who would avoid the official entry points into the village.”
She can’t stop staring at the thick swirls of ink.
“The alarm that went off a few weeks ago – that was triggered by a barrier seal being breached by what we later discovered was foreign ninja. The barrier seal was linked to a sound-emitting seal, which had been programmed to go off upon any intrusions.”
Miyu hums, nodding. Her own brush rests against her inkstone, abandoned.
“Seals can be tailored to smaller spaces – clan grounds, or even houses and apartments. Most ninja don’t sleep well at night without some kind of protective seals on their premises.”
Amazing. Automatic alarm systems?
“But sealing can also be used to store objects. This, for example,” Kushina places what appears to be a final stroke onto the paper, and then sets her brush down. “Is a storage seal.”
She makes a quick hand sign, and in a concentrated rush of air the ink is dried.
Kushina places a dagger – gods, where did she pull that from – upon it.
“All I need to do is channel chakra into this ‘lock’ in the specific pattern for this scroll – security, of sorts – and-”
The dagger disappears. Instantly.
Miyu sucks in a sharp breath, leaning closer to the parchment. She looks below the table, but nothing’s there.
“Amazing,” she breathes, meeting Kushina’s gaze, “this is amazing, Kushina-san.”
“Mah,” she rubs at the back of her neck, smiling bashfully, “it’s just a storage scroll.”
“If the item is being stored elsewhere – that must mean…” Miyu stares at the pattern atop the parchment. “It’s – Kushina-san, it’s not in this reality. Have you created a new dimension? If you make another storage scroll, will that become another new dimension? Do all storage scrolls lead to the same dimension?”
Kushina sits back a little, wide eyed.
“If – hold on, if you put food in one of these…” Miyu frowns, “If food went in hot, would it come out hot? Does food spoil in them?”
Gods, the possibilities –
“Does time cease to exist in these pocket dimensions? Can people go there? If someone was injured, and you sealed them, would they come out the exact same as when you put them in?”
“People-” Kushina clears her throat, and continues, “people can’t go in them, Miyu-san. No living thing can. Not even for a second. They won’t come out alive.”
That’s only more fascinating.
“Is there no oxygen in these spaces?” She questions next. “That might be how food remains unspoiled, right? But no, that can’t explain-”
“Miyu-san,” Kushina’s smiling, and Miyu’s suddenly embarrassed at her relentless curiosity.
“My apologies, Kushina-san, I-”
“Please, don’t apologise. It’s been so long since anyone’s asked me anything like this. What are you doing after class today? Do you have time for lunch?”
Miyu can’t help her excited smile, “I definitely do.”
