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Koiuta	By : dragonslover1 Category: Naruto > Het - Male/Female Views: 1148 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Disclaimer: I own nothing of Naruto. Leave me alone.
Koiuta, Love Song
Prologue
She is beautiful, that is true. But when her father looks at her, he doesn’t see that beauty. Perhaps he is obsessed with his ambition, his father’s ambition, his clan’s ambition; but he cannot see her beauty and neither does he seem to care that she is beautiful. What he sees is the future, or so he hopes. He sees his child, set with the jewel of their ancestors, meant to give power to every generation until at last they will achieve their dream of having a Bloodline Limit once more.

That shining, light blue jewel. Because she was born female, her mother chose where to place the jewel; it was now at the corner of her left eye. It was there since she was born, and it will be there until she dies. That is how the jewel works. You feed it your chakra, it gives you the chakra of those who bore it before you, and in exchange, you cannot be rid of it.

She stared in the mirror at it before. On the one hand, it was a blemish, sitting right there in the open, drawing eyes and showing all those with Byaakugan that it was firmly connected with her chakra. On the other hand, it was a decoration, it catches the eye and brings them up to her equally blue eyes.

Black hair, crystal blue eyes, tall and thin form, respectably-sized breasts – she could have been any model, any actress, any singer or musician or even a princess. . . but she wasn’t. Her father wouldn’t let her, of course. His dream was to see their Bloodline Limit recaptured, through her. She didn’t want that. She couldn’t remember a time when she ever did. What she wanted was to be a girl for once.

She was adult, after all. A solid seventeen, unlikely to grow any taller for the rest of her life – she was her prime age, and wanted to enjoy it. She wanted to be courted and cooed, flirted with and loved by someone she liked, someone not of this clan. No, this clan was filled with power-hungry mongrels who wanted her just for her chakra jewel and her children. She hated them all.

She turned sideways to her mirror, eying herself through the reflection, following the curves and dips of her upper body. Drawing her shoulders back, she stood up as straight as she could, lifted her chin, and narrowed her eyes. The warrior’s pose. This was the first way she learned to stand. The first thing she was taught upon standing. To this day her father gloats about her as a baby, how badly she had tried to grow up, how hard she’d tried to stand and walk, how quickly she’d accomplished those feats.

He gloated, too, about her skill with a blade. Her katana. She looked at it, hung on the wall not far from her. Katanas were beautiful to her, so nicely curved, so thin and light yet heavy in your hand. The techniques she’d learned, the killing blows; she practiced those a lot, not for their deadliness, but for their grace in mastering. She felt like a dancer when she trained, and it was for this reason alone that she trained, and that her father allowed her to.

It probably wouldn’t matter to him, that she saw training as dancing, as long as she kept on training. But he disliked everything that she wanted; he never let her participate in dances, in play, in games or music or any some such. He let her train as much as she wanted, and for that, she learned to see the grace in the movement of the blade.

Her flute.

She picked it up from her desk and looked at it. Her father saw this as a trinket. As long as he didn’t hear her practice it, or handle it, she could keep it. It was to be kept as a decoration and nothing more, or he would take it away and likely punish her for being lax in her training. It was a sad existence she lived, for that reason. Why couldn’t he let her be a girl, for once?

He let her train at any time, in any place, as long as she didn’t leave the village. So she went to the training grounds a lot, during the night when no one else was there. She would take her katana, her flute, and her will. Tonight was no different. As she looked out the window and noted the angle of the moon, she took down her katana and left. The flute, hidden as always, was secured within the hilt of her katana.

Her father didn’t ask where she was going as she left. This was her habit; late-night training. He gloated most about this, that she left late at night when others were sleeping, and trained for hours on end. Did he know the truth, he would go with her to make sure no flutes or other musical instruments appeared. Sleep wasn’t that much of a necessity to her, another reason for her father to brag to everyone else. She trained for hours every night, slept only a few hours, then got back to training. She was a prodigy, he would say.

She was a killing machine.

But she wasn’t. She was a girl. Why couldn’t he accept that? The first time she saw children playing as she trained, she was five, and asked him what they were doing. Her father had told her, firmly, “They are wasting their time.” When she asked what it was called, he said, “It’s called ‘playing’. Pay it no mind. As I said, they’re wasting their time.”

And she’d believed him then, looking up to him as though he were a God. However, at twelve, when she graduated from the Academy, the other students held a party. They didn’t invite her. When she asked what a party was and why she couldn’t go, one of the boys had looked down on her and said, “You’re too stingy to play with us. Go back home and train with your Oyagi. You’re not welcome with us normal kids. Get out of here!”

That had broken her heart, and her father had caught her, crying. He called it a weakness, then asked her who won the fight. She told him there was no fight, that her chest was hurting and she didn’t know why. When he explained it was emotional pain, a weakness of the warrior, she’d glared at him. “Why can’t I be like the others? Why am I different?” she’d blurted.

Her father, though angry, had smiled. “Because the other children are weak. You are above them, far above them. You are my daughter who will bring honor and rank to our clan again. This means you have no time for weakness, for games, for tears, or for others.”

Her image of him shattered the moment she saw that look of anger upon his face, because with it, she saw a determination that frightened her, as well as obsession. She could tell with a single glance that her father was not the man she thought him to be, and decided from there that she wouldn’t become his weapon of honor. No, she would be Tasha, daughter of her mother, who quests for peace instead.

And she hated the Earth Country. They were mostly mad people, set out to bring the other Great Countries down. They especially seem to hate the Fire Country, or most of the ninja did. They almost refuse to acknowledge Fire Country’s existence as a Great Country. That’s what angered Tasha; that the people of her own country were that short-sighted and narrow-minded. It was obvious to everyone with eyes which countries were of the Great Countries and why; the Kages lived on in each of these despite war.

And she was tired of being here. As she reached the training grounds, she pulled out her flute and dropped her katana. Maybe she would just leave it there. . . she didn’t consider herself a ninja anyway. She rarely wore her forehead protector, not that her father much cared – his loyalty was to their washed-up clan with no name.

She played her flute, the notes soaring from the instrument without will or purpose, but soothing her as she thought. Next week was the Chuunin Exam. Her father hadn’t let her and the team she was in go before. But this time, he was ordering her to go, to become a Chuunin and work more on making the clan worthy.

Her team. She could have scoffed. Two males her own age and her sensei, just a Jounin with no name in her book. None of them were known by their names. Perhaps she was revolting in her own way, but she never called them by their names; after so long, she couldn’t remember.

They hated her. She knew that. They hated her and wanted to reject her constantly, for being so well praised by her father, so skilled, so merciless in their missions – they didn’t know the first thing about her. The last mission they were on, she pulled a holier-than-thou and refused to help them when a large battle arose. She stood off to the side and let them deal with the enemies, though she wanted to let off steam. But no, she stayed back, let them fight a battle they surely would have pawned off on her then claimed she hadn’t done a thing to help. Her pay was often docked because of those three working against her, so she decided to stop helping.

The enemies had looked at her oddly but left her be, since she wasn’t helping nor hindering either team. In the end, one of them had attacked her, saying as they were defeated that she had planned this, that their mission was to take out her and that she sent them after her own team because she couldn’t defend herself. Rather than kill the man and urge bloodshed, she had smiled at him and nodded. “Yes, I am very weak, and you fell for it,” she’d said.

So what if she were the strongest and most skilled of her teammates? So what if she graduated with top marks in all fields, number one in her class and the class before hers? So what if she were second only to the Jounin and her sensei? She didn’t want any of that. She could wake up one day, perfectly normal, a commoner, and be happy with it.

And now her father wanted her to be a Chuunin. Well, she could live with the title. Her teammates and father would never let her live it down if she, her clan’s prodigy, failed. Well. She might as well. But she might have to train herself more to do it without a sweat. Yes, she could always show them up, prove to them all that she was worthy of a higher rank, wanting be damned.

Someday, perhaps when she achieved a Jounin rank, she would leave and not come back. She didn’t know where she would go yet, perhaps to some insignificant village, and stay there for the rest of her life. Or maybe she would continuously wander. She wouldn’t wear her forehead protector ever again, never fight for a country she didn’t like, never be forced to train for a goal she never wanted.

But to be normal was a dream, and a dream she couldn’t afford at that. Being a ninja was too far ingrained into her to ever be forgot. Her very stance was that of someone with power to waste, and though she may not have ever wanted it, she had it, and she was proud of it. She was stronger than the other kunoichi, faster, smarter; but those things were trivial. She was more beautiful than any other female in the clan and most of the country, and that was what mattered to her.

She was beautiful, she danced with the grace she always wanted to have, she played music that sounded exquisite to her ears; she was everything she ever wanted to be. The rest was pointless. So what if she could fight? She didn’t see a need to. So what if she could plan? There wasn’t a reason to. So what if her father saw her as a tool to glory? She wouldn’t be around forever.

She only hoped the downfall of her clan would happen before she escaped. If not, she just might return to see it happen.

The notes she played, as always, conjured up insects and smaller creatures alike. She played for them, for her freedom, for her pride. Fireflies danced around her with butterflies and moths, while squirrels and rabbits hopped about her feet. She smiled for them, both jealous and happy that they didn’t have a life like she did. They were all beautiful and free, just as she wanted to be. They may have to fight off predators, but they did so of their own will.

They weren’t being told or forced to work for the glory of their brothers and sisters. No, the lucky critters and bugs had nothing but their bodies and their resting places. That was all they needed. She felt chained while they were perfectly free.

Oh, she was crying again. It happened from time to time. She blinked and paused to brush away the tears, pushing them back. Weakness or not, she refused to let go, to break down. She was stronger than that; she was born and raised stronger than that.

She was contradictory. She knew that, as she began playing again, and that it was confusing to anyone who would sit and try to understand her. She wanted peace, but enjoyed her strength. She wanted to leave, yet remained in wait for the day that her clan would fall at last. She wanted to be accepted, yet pushed away those who knew her with the same ferocity they showed her.

Next week, they were all going to Konohagakure for the Chuunin Exam. Next week she would be free of this village and country at last, if only for a few months. Next week. . . just next week. She found herself smiling again.

It wouldn’t be that long. She waited seventeen years to be gone. She took several mission-coordinated trips out of the country in that time. Those were for a few days or less. Now she would be able to leave for a much greater time, to enjoy another place altogether. . . and to finally make a friend or two. She couldn’t imagine being friendless forever; she craved that.

She found herself craving more than a friend, though. She wanted a lover. Perhaps not someone whom she would eventually marry, but a strong man nonetheless, who would see her beauty and cherish her for it. She didn’t need him to be around forever, just long enough to show her what bliss of the body felt like. Then after, he could leave, and she would be satisfied.

Did Konohagakure have such men? From what her countrymen say, Konohagakure has nothing but cheaters, liars, and boasters. But her countrymen were known to lie. Other countries said other things, such as Konohagakure having many respectable clans, respectable Jounin, and respectable Hokage. The current Hokage, she’d heard, was a woman of the name Tsunade. Supposedly Tsunade was a fool, gambling often, which made her wonder why Konohagakure would choose such a person as their Hokage.

But she’d heard nothing of the country going into debt, and so the woman must have self control of some variety. Or perhaps a wave of bad luck that finally ended.

Next week, she reminded herself. Putting away her flute at last, she felt like dancing, but not with a weapon. The animals and insects around her scattered as the music ended, some remaining at the edges of the clearing, watching for a short time before leaving. She felt almost lighter than air as she practiced, feeling her element rush through her almost like bolts of lightning as she kept it up. Wind, air, beginning a wall of pure force around her with every movement.

It didn’t take long for the wind to begin moving, circularly, spiraling inwards towards her. At last she bent backward, hands touching the earth, and kicked straight up. Any enemy would have been tossed from this motion alone, but the wind around her added a final move. It was sharp, very much so, and brushed by her to swirl continually upwards, knocking any would-be attackers higher and slicing them as it did so. Soon, the gusts reaches their peak several meters above her, and died down.

The dance was over, and she was tired. Returning her flute to its place within her katana hilt, she sat against a tree and shut her eyes. She did this a lot, napping against the trees when tired out. Her father didn’t ask questions but let her sleep. How long she slept wasn’t worth yelling at her for. She slept less than normal as it was. Perhaps that would help in the Chuunin Exam. . .

Next week.

Next week.

. . .Next week.
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Koiuta