Carefully, Fuuka slid a handful of coins from her purse, securing them tightly in the palm of her hands so that she could hand over the right amount in one motion. Money was not really a problem for Fuuka. She still lived at home with her parents and their bakery did well enough that they didn’t want her to chip into the household with her genin earnings, encouraging her to mostly save it. That still left plenty of ryo for discretionary purchases like say emotional support chicken skewers. Fuuka's coin counting was mainly intended to simplify the interaction with a salesperson, she tended to get flustered easily if she had to count out money or decide on her order in front of a line of impatient shoppers.
With the correct change firmly in hand, Fuuka looked up in time to note there was only one other person in front of her in the line. He was a boy about her age roughly or perhaps a little younger to go from his height, with longish, sand coloured hair down to just above his shoulders. From her position Fuuka could see the back of a sturdy looking, dull green vest and wide grey pants but most interestingly, the boy’s arms were both wrapped in bandages from fingertip up to the shoulder. He didn’t carry himself as if he were injured so Fuuka suspected they were the kind of bandages shinobi wore for compression, support and very modest protection. Fuuka had a few rolls at home but she usually felt like she was trying too hard if she wore them. The boy obviously didn’t have the same problem, his clothes were all sturdy, lightweight shinobi gear although Fuuka didn’t recognise the boy as a fellow genin or from her infrequent, post graduation visits to the academy.
The boy carried himself with a kind of tension around the shoulders, different from Fuuka’s own timidity. He looked more alert, turning his gaze this way and that between curt exchanges with the vendor who was also a guard. The boy had angled his head all the way to the right by the time the vendor handed him a steaming croquette in a paper pocket so that Fuuka caught a glimpse of a surprisingly delicate profile that suddenly twisted into a scowl. Whirling into motion the boy dug a handful of coins out of his pocket and dropped them haphazardly on the counter, snatched the croquette away with his other hand and stalked off leaving a bewildered vendor behind to shrug haplessly.
“Oh Fuuka,” said the vendor, his expression lighting up with recognition. “After the usual? Tell you what, I'll give you a freebie if you can catch up with that kid, he left his change behind.
“Oh umm, s-sure?” replied Fuuka, glancing in the direction the boy had left. Truthfully the price of a chicken skewer wasn’t really a deal maker for her but Fuuka couldn’t really figure out how to say no in a way that wouldn’t be awkward. Reluctantly, she found herself sidling up to the stand to collect the abandoned change and her tasty bribe before setting off on the trail of the strange boy.
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Fuuka was no tracker or sensor nin by a long shot but she at least knew enough to know that picking someone out of a crowd would be easier from a good vantage point. Fortunately Chowaku was a city built by and for shinobi so there were vantage points everywhere. Fuuka crouched and gathered chakra in her legs and feet, unleashing it all in a chakra enhanced leap that took her to the second level of a rickety metal fire escape. Another leap sent Fuuka up to a window sill on the next building over and a third took her up to the rooftop. Fuuka let out a satisfied little huff, pleased to note that she was unwinded and her heart rate was only a little elevated. Yoritomo sensei had been an enthusiastic proponent of physical conditioning in his students and gruelling physical exercise had been a core component of most of his “lessons”. After nearly a year of that sort of treatment Fuuka could at least keep up with most genin except for Yuna obviously.
The thought of her former teammates and teacher conjured up a noxious cocktail of guilt and shame that Fuuka didn’t feel like dealing with just then, so she moved over to the edge of the rooftop to search for her target, suddenly glad for the distraction she had stumbled into. Fuuka scanned the crowds of foot traffic below for signs of the boy. His sandy hair was neither an especially rare or particularly commonplace colour in Chowaku. Migrants from all over the continent eventually found their way to the city so in fact you could probably find just about any hair colour you could think of if you were willing to look long enough and steal enough hats. Instead Fuuka focused on looking for the boy’s bandaged arms, which were more distinctive. Even Gunshugakure shinobi who wore bandages tended to be a little more conservative with them, or covered them with long sleeves to better mingle among the city’s civilian populace. Fuuka wondered if the boy was from somewhere else originally, the shinobi she had met and seen at the exam in Hanagakure had generally dressed more overtly for combat.
As soon as that thought occurred to her Fuuka spotted the boy about half a block away across the road, slinking close to the side of an old building and glancing around conspicuously before ducking into a side alley and out of sight. Hmm, well that was interesting and oh- a trio of older boys suddenly pointed towards the mouth of the alley and made a beeline towards it, cutting none too gently through the flow of foot traffic. The older boys, Fuuka would have pegged them at about sixteen or seventeen, had the wide armed swagger of street toughs and fashion sense to match it. Their clothes were frayed and torn in ways that spoke of either deliberate affectation or general wear and tear and they had that wiry, muscular look that a lot of the outer ward folk sported from hard work and barely adequate nutrition.
Not suspicious at all then. Honestly the boy would probably be fine if he really was a genin. According to Yoritomo sensei bits and pieces of real taijutsu and even ninjutsu had filtered down to some of the criminal elements in the outer wards but these three didn’t really have that look about them. The quality of such teachings were said to be pretty dire in comparison to even the basic instruction of the academy anyway. The smart move would probably be to pocket the change, finish off her free skewer and get on with her day. Still the idea of running away again, so soon after revisiting that day with the Gunshukage left Fuuka’s stomach turning queasily so she hunkered down into a sprinter’s crouch and gathered chakra in her legs to body flicker over the open street.
The streets in Chowaku were not especially wide, partly to facilitate rooftop hopping in the manner Fuuka was doing now, but she still felt a faint tingle as she leaped over the open road and pedestrians below, a far cry from the naked terror she had felt the first time Yoritomo sensei had coaxed her into following after him and her shinobi born teammates. It would be another dozen common sense defying leaps before Fuuka was able to perform them without screwing her eyes tight shut and wailing loudly. Nowadays Fuuka’s silly, civilian born instincts like “don’t jump off the side of a building” had been wrestled mostly into submission and she was able to keep her eyes open, which did wonders for her landings. Fuuka’s arc through the city air deposited her neatly onto the middle of the rooftop she’d been aiming for and she even remembered to use a little bit of adhesive chakra on the soles of her shoes to arrest her momentum and stick her landing. There was still a little bit of a wobble and windmilling of her arms though. Fuuka hadn’t quite gotten the hang of what Yuna could do, landing a body flicker with zero movement at the end and sometimes a casual or disinterested pose to show off. That always looked super cool when chunin or jonin did it, Fuuka had been quietly working on getting the hang of it in her spare time until… well until the lead up to the exams had driven her into an anxiety spiking cycle of avoiding shinobi stuff as much as possible. That memory brought on some very uncomfortable thoughts again so Fuuka shook her head, as if hoping to physically dislodge them and hopped off the rooftop down into the alleyway, seeking distraction in the form of her target once more.
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“Takumo has been looking for you Nagi-chan,” crooned one of the older boys with a crooked grin as Fuuka landed silently in the alley, behind and a little to the left of the trio. Judging from his position at the lead of their little wedge formation this was the leader, likely by dint of age going off his patchy goatee. He had spiky brown hair and a silver hoop in one ear, the piercing for which looked like it hadn’t quite healed properly.
“He has no reason to be,” said the boy Fuuka had been chasing, his voice cool but unusually high- oh that was a girl actually. Now that Fuuka could see her face and hear her voice at the same time it was pretty obvious around the lips and cheeks even if she was a bit tomboyish. “I’m paid up with Takumo and I’m done working for you guys,”
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“That’s not how it works Nagi chan,” said the lead guy, tutting and shaking his head like a teacher disappointed in a star pupil. “Takumo decides when you’re done and he says you aren’t done yet,”
Umm!” Fuuka said, suddenly announcing her presence to keep the tension from ratcheting up further. That was her intention anyway. Four sets of eyes flicked over to Fuuka.
“Who the fu-” goatee guy started to say, then “Nagi chan” kicked him very hard in the balls.
In the academy Fuuka had been taught not to rely too much on groin strikes, not out of some misguided sense of decency but because they’re surprisingly easy to defend against. Right on either side of the testicles are the thighs, which are solid flanks of muscle that make for poor targets themselves and severely limit the number of available attack vectors, often forcing an awkward motion that doesn’t generate a lot of force and which can easily be neutralised with a quick shift in stance or repositioning of the leg. Unfortunately for goatee guy all of this can be rendered moot by a sudden distraction, like the one Fuuka had unwittingly provided. Then Tomboy had snapped off an absolutely vicious front kick. There was no windup but it was sharp and without the need to defend herself she could work her arms and shoulders as counterweights to drive the momentum of her foot.
Goatee guy shrivelled, seeming to lose actual volume like spinach being stir fried as he folded in on himself and sank to the floor with a sort of gargled shriek. The tomboy moved onto the next boy before goatee hit the ground, leaping at a tanned boy with a shaved head to drive a flying knee into his stomach. The third member of the trio, who was chunkier than the other two by a good margin, rounded on Fuuka, perhaps deciding her distraction had been intentional. More likely the heavyset boy was simply panicking because the roundhouse punch he chambered was blatantly telegraphed and sloppy. Still Fuuka panicked a bit herself and fell back on a very basic taijutsu defence: hitting the other person faster and harder.
Fuuka jabbed the boy in the throat with her right hand and then followed up with a left hook. Fuuka had aimed for the tip of his jaw but caught the side of his face and felt the edge of his teeth scraping her knuckles through his cheek. Sloppy. She sent out a scything low kick next and that was executed a bit better, Fuuka hooked her foot around the boy’s knee and he buckled, sinking to her level for a right hook that actually did land properly on the jaw this time. Chunky boy’s head snapped to the side and he fell back, stunned.
Fuuka turned back to check on the tomboy and her opponent to find that the girl had resolved the situation to her pretty conclusive advantage. The boy was prone and the tomboy was straddling him, holding the collar of his hoodie with one hand to brace his head for a blow she landed with the other. There was blood dripping from the girl’s forehead but, judging by the rather postmodern structure the boy's nose has been moulded into, it was probably not hers.
“Go back to Takumo and tell him I’m done. I paid back every ryo he leant me interest and all and now we. Are. Done. Anyone else he sends to hassle me is gonna wind up looking a lot worse than you goobers do now, got it?”
The boy blubbered out something vaguely affirmative and she got up off of him, letting him scramble to his feet and take off without a second look at his comrades who were both still laid out on the greasy floor of the alley. Charming. The girl watched him leave with undisguised contempt and then turned towards Fuuka, her expression cold.
“Alright, so who the fuck are you then?” she asked, her voice spring loaded with hostility and ready to snap out at the slightest provocation.
Fuuka hadn’t actually planned out what to say when she caught up to the girl and any vague notions had been swept away by the adrenaline rush of combat. Now that adrenalin was slowly seeping away, leaving behind an empty, slightly sweaty vessel.
“Ch-change?” Fuuka stuttered eventually, cringing internally even as she did so.
“...What?” asked the girl, her voice flat.
“You left your change?” Fuuka asked, suddenly devising scenarios in which she had followed the wrong person or messed up in some other mortifying way. “At the vendor? I was behind you in line so he…asked me to bring it to you…” Fuuka trailed off awkwardly under the withering stare of the other girl. It was a bit like when Yuna was glaring at her but that was a more glacial, aloof sort of coldness. This was a coldness like a running tap when the hot water was about to kick in and suddenly scald your hand. Hastily Fuuka shoved her hand into her pocket to retrieve the change and held it out for the other girl, wishing her hands weren’t so clammy.
The other girl looked at the change in Fuuka’s hand with a sort of conflicted disgust, as though Fuuka had whipped a dead bug out of her pocket but maybe a valuable one? Eventually though she covered the distance between them with sharp strides and took the handful of coins, rifling through them nimbly with her thumb before shoving them in a pocket of her grey pants.
“Weird but… thanks, I guess,” the girl said, forcing the words out as though they caused her pain. “If I see you around again I guess I owe you one,” she said.
“Oh you don't have to-” Fuuka began, but the girl was already gone, a swift body flicker having carried her out of the alley, leaving behind only a gust of stale alley wind behind.
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“So how was your big meeting with the Chowakage?” Ruiji Kurokawa asked his daughter, poorly concealed pride leaking from his very pores as the family sat down to dinner. Fuuka cringed.
“It wasn’t a good meeting Dad, it was ‘cause I… didn’t do so well during the chunin exams remember?” she said, staring down at her rice and vegetables as she played with them.
“Well if you weren’t important you wouldn’t be getting chewed out by the Chowakage himself!” Ruiji replied, pointing with his chopsticks at Fuuka until his wife gently but firmly directed them down at his bowl again. “He has a guy to chew out the nobodies for him, a dozen guys probably, a whole department even! Besides you didn’t come home in tears or anything so it can’t have been that bad,”
“Dad!” Fuuka whined as her older brother Tomoki sniggered. “The Chowakage talks to lots of people who aren’t important anyway, he’s just like that. Nice,” she added quickly to change the subject.
“Well he doesn’t talk to me,” said Ruiji. “So you’re more important than your old man! That’s what they call intergenerational upward mobility,”
“I don’t think anyone actually calls it that,” said Fuuken, shoving his seat back and standing up from the old dining table to carry his bowl away.
“I wish you wouldn’t inhale your food like that,” said Fuuka’s mother Saori, frowning after her eldest son’s broad, retreating back.
“Need to get started on the ordering for this week,” Fuuken said, approximating an apology. “Thanks for the meal Ma,” he added, disappearing around the corner into the spare room he and Dad used as an office for the bakery’s paperwork. Saori Kurokawa tutted but Ruiji smiled into his bowl in a way he though the rest of them couldn't see. Ruiji was proud of al his childrenl in their own ways, but he had a special fondness for Fuuken’s interest in the family business.
“So, so, meeting deets,” Tomoki said suddenly, the traitorous wretch. He was most likely trying to steer the conversation away from some failing of his: grades probably. Since Fuuken is slated to take over the family business Ruiji has been planning for his second son to become “a man of letters” and shoot for some kind of government or business position after his education. As far as Fuuka can tell Tomoki agreed to this idea to weasel his way out of early morning shifts at the bakery: he does like the idea of moving up in social status and not doing manual labour and he is fairly sharp when he wants to be but he has difficulty applying that sharpness to scholarly pursuits.
“I’m being assigned to a new team, since Yuna and Haru are both chunin now,” Fuuka said, giving Tomoki a targeted dose of side eye to communicate that his ploy is being allowed, not going unnoticed. Fuuka’s parents didn’t really have much of a frame of reference for this information so she kept her tone deliberately neutral. They didn’t really need to know how much of an abject failure Fuuka was as a shinobi.
“Oh well that might not be so bad,” said Saori with a gentle smile.
“Yeah you know those last too seemed a little off to me truth be told,” said Ruiji scratching his chin thoughtfully. “Especially that Yuna girl, a little too high strung, you know?”
“Dad, her family is the Naruhiko clan? The oldest and most powerful in the village?” Fuuka said, frowning. “Of course she’s intense, they push her really hard, she’s the heir and everything, she has a lot to live up to,”
“Hrm well it can’t be doing her any good,” said Ruiji with a shrug. "Mark my words sweetie, give it ten years or so and she’ll be sporting early wrinkles and you’ll be the prettier one by a mile,”
“Dad!” Fuuka whined, feeling her cheeks heat up as Tomoki hooted triumphantly.
“So right now she’s ugly as sin? That sounds about right!”
“Wh- nonono that’s not what I mea-”
“I-” Fuuka pushed her own chair back and stood up suddenly. “Am full too,” she said, gathering up the tattered shreds of her dignity. “And I need to be up early tomorrow,” she said, scarpering off to the safety of her room with her cheeks still burning. Even after falling behind her team she still couldn’t escape being compared to them.