Chapter Text
"Even the gods can't judge a cornered animal for baring its fangs."
Back before I joined the academy, when I was just another street rat on the port, scrounging for the fish too rotten for the market that the fishermen would discard, fighting over a meager pittance with all the other street rats, these were the words that Tadayoshi said to me.
I didn't know him at the time. I stole a fish from his stall, and later that morning he found me, trying to set a small fire to roast the day's meal with whatever could be burned around me. I thought he wanted to kill me or, worse, hand me over to the village's authorities. I had a small, rusty knife that I held between me and him.
He smiled then. "The salmon you took tastes a lot better with some wild herbs. I have some at home if you'd like to accompany me.”
I was not stupid. Even at seven, I knew what men often did to girls desperate enough to accept such offers, but I was cold, the leaden skies above were pregnant with water, threatening a downpour. Neither my fire nor my fish would survive that ordeal.
“What is your name, girl?”
“Noroki.”
It wasn't my name, but it was what I remembered. My memories of the night me and my brother fled home were a blur. I wasn't even five years old. It was a raid of some kind, though I never really understood why or what it was my father did. I barely even remembered who he was.
What I did remember was a woman. It might have been my mother. It might have been one of the house servants. She was cold on the ground, her eyes hollow and glassy, her body nearly bisected by a sword, and her hand reaching upward. Before I could reach out to her, my brother had gathered up, and we had fled out the window, away from the sounds of violence.
Me and my brother separated not long after, not by choice. It was only me by that point.
“Well, Noroki,” the fisherman said, “are you coming along?”
I followed him. It changed my life.
Tadayoshi did not touch me, in fact, he is the only reason I still believed in kindness. His home was a simple shack, with a roof thatched enough times to keep up off the constant leakage of rain. I slept warm that night, with a full stomach. I had never had a more restful sleep since.
"I did not take you in out of pity. I'm too old to have kids of my own, and I need a helping hand,” I would have believed him had he not had that smile in his eyes. It was full of pity. I felt like an injured cat, limping on a broken leg, the way he looked at me the next morning, with a bucket and a fishing rod in his hands.
We walked in near silence to the fishing port that day. Tadayoshi had a love for straw hats, even though Water Country was overcast nine days out of ten. And when sunlight came, it was always diffuse and thin. It was one of those days—a little sun was what's considered 'a nice day', especially in Kirigakure. Even the gray shroud that the village was named for was light enough for us to see a lighthouse in the distance.
“Why me?” It was me who broke the silence this time. I talked so little that I was not used to the sound of my own voice, but the question had to be said. There were other urchins out there, some stronger and taller than I was, and boys better suited for fishing. I always wished I were a boy, envied their strength.
His wrinkled eyes smiled at me, pity again. “Girls eat a lot less.”
The answer didn't satisfy me, but I didn't push. That same day, I also realized I was terrible at fishing. Tadayoshi watched me struggle with the rod, my small frame unable to wield it effectively. The rod was too tall, my grip too clumsy. If he really was truthful about his motives, he would have abandoned me right there.
But he did not.
“Try this,” he showed me a net, a mesh like a spiderweb that he had me hold in my hands. It was lighter than a rod, and slowly Tadayoshi guided me on the art of fishing with a net. He taught me how to be precise and find the right angle to ensnare my prey. I practiced until the next dawn, and in the weeks after, my fingers learned the delicate dance of the net's weave.
I was a natural, each passing day, the weight of the net grew heavier with fish, and by the year's end, Tadayoshi and I had a consistent, reliable supply of game. We could feed ourselves and sell some on the market too. I grew stronger, as well, more healthy. Regular meals could do wonders to your body.
Not once had I considered life as a kunoichi. It was luck, really, our success and regular bounty of fish angered some. Competition at the port thought I was stealing their share, but it shouldn't have been my fault that they couldn't keep up, and there was plenty of fish for everyone. Not like that argument could work. Money exchanged hands. Fishermen were too poor to afford shinobi—not that they needed it for what was just a little girl and her old man— but street thugs had reasonable rates, and in the poverty-stricken Mist, every man had his price.
"Hey there, the rest of us gotta eat too, you know," I recognized the boy. He was a little older than I was, three or four years my senior. Mikiwara had a hideous nose, broken so often in tussles that it grew just... wrong. "Best hand over your catch before things get ugly."
Along with him were two others, younger than he was but with the same mean look on their faces.
"You can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear,” I said. Back then, I didn't know what it meant, but I liked using the idioms that Tadayoshi often said. It made me feel wiser, older, like I knew what I was doing. I think this one meant something about how one can't expect rewards without putting in the work, but it didn't matter.
I saw the confused look on their faces. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means I'm not giving you shit!”
When I saw the angry look on his face I immediately regretted saying that. A year of eating well, sleeping well, working the stall with Tadayoshi and learning to trade made me confident. Arrogant. I was scared.
He ran at me, his face red with anger, viciousness spilled from his every pore. I was defenseless, but in the split second when my brain was deciding whether to opt for fight or flight, the fight won out, barely. Adrenaline pumped through me, or chakra, or a mix of both—I would learn that this was possible later. I had no weapon, but I had the net, and it was enough.
I pivoted on my heel—not by choice, my body just moved on its own—and narrowly dodged his outstretched arms. Gripping the fishing net tightly in my hands, I swung it with all the force I could muster. The mesh unfurled like a spiderweb, catching him off guard as it wrapped around his limbs. He let out a grunt of surprise, and to my luck, his friends were too stunned to actually do something as he stumbled forward, not even aware of what I had just done yet. I pressed forward, tightening the net's hold with a tug, pulling until I brought Mikiwara crashing to the ground.
I would only learn later that I was channeling chakra. I could feel it boiling away like steam curling off hot water, suffusing my muscles and invigorating me for combat. My eyes flared alert like a cat and I felt like I could run a thousand miles then, but I didn't think much of it. To me, I was just scared, and animal instinct carried me through.
The other boys ran, screaming, terrified. Later at the academy, they would tell us about the Killing Intent and how shinobi could focus their chakra to project terror on others. I must have been doing that then, subconsciously.
I ran too, back home. To Tadayoshi.
A few days later, when I returned to the shack with a heavy bucket of fish, Tadayoshi handed me a handwritten letter. It was signed by the academy—something usually too formal for Mist shinobi—asking for me, specifically. Someone had seen what I did to Mikiwara, or rather, felt it.
"This is not the life for you," Tadayoshi had warned that day. "You're not a killer."
But I had already made my decision.