The moment the academy master, the Marajin, stared out the window of his private chambers, a thought went through his mind. The Country of the Flame would be going through a very cold season. From the crack in the window, a chilly breeze flew in, confirming his suspicions. It also pushed some of his gray hair in front of his face. Annoyed, he forced the gray strands back into shape.
As he stared into the evening sky, the Marajin began to think. In the world that was called the Land of the Rising Sun, there are seven countries that are world powers. These seven countries control the world; no other country matters, for they are weak and the Seven are supreme. The seven countries are Flame, Earth, Storm, Wave, Frost, Thunder and Wolf.
Each country, a member of the Seven or otherwise, was ruled by a Feudal Lord, and he could have as many advisors as a thousand, or just one.
As the Marajin thought about his fellow advisors, his thoughts wandered to the ‘Country-Academy Pact’ thousands of years ago. It was in a time when the advisors were in control of the Countries, and the Feudal Lords was a mere puppet, albeit a divine one. A gap of power was quickly arising between each of the Countries. In their ever lust of power, the Advisors quickly schemed on a way to restore their power.
They proposed each country creating and maintaining a Shinobi Academy. In theory, the Academies would balance each of the Countries’ power, and thus, no one Country would be greater than the other, and so, the Old Ways would be renewed.
However, the Academies only encouraged the pursuit of power. The Feudal Lords wanted to have the greatest Academy; soon, the Country with the greatest Academy had the greatest Shinobis, and thus, the greater power. The Marajin could only laugh at how foolish his ancestors were. The Advisors hoped to use the Academy as a tool to preserver their power and deny the Lords theirs; how ironic, the Marajin smirked, for the exact opposite to occur!
Of course, being the pawn of government had its negatives.
Sakurai was the Marajin of Disbakao, the Academy the Flame funded. As a result, he had many responsibilities on his shoulders. The most bothersome one was, despite his old age of sixty seven, he was expected to travel thousands of miles every year to the capital to celebrate a great festival.
Fortunately that was three months away, not until the month of the Sheep. He hated traveling, but he absolutely despised the festivals. The festival was louder than a thousand dragon cannons firing at once. Children squealing like hundreds of pigs destined for the butchers; men whooping like a bunch of hill men after a barbaric feast, and woman moving from one side of the city to the next, their geta sandals creating a chaotic symphony of clanking wood. It was a horrid experience for an old man like the Marajin who only wanted peace and the true laughter of children.
Disbakao, on the other hand, was very peaceful for being a city and an academy of shinobis. The usual Academies were just as loud as a Country’s capital. But Disbakao was different from the norm in this aspect: any time throughout the day, wherever you were, you could see birds chirping, or the swaying of cherry blossom trees in the spring. It was more peaceful in its time of festivities than the Country of the Flame’s capital during the festival!
The Marajin sighed. He needed some sake to remove the dire thoughts of the Festival.
When that thought came to mind, his thoughts returned to the topic of responsibilities he had to face. The laws decreed that he was allowed only one bottle of the beloved drink every night. This by itself was not a problem, since normally he drank just a small glass every few weeks. However, at times of great annoyance, such as him reviewing students who wish to graduate the school, his wish for more than a bottle was very troublesome indeed.
Remembering his duties, and how anxious he was as a student about the reviewing process, he closed the doors behind him. He lightly, and soberly, picked up the white tokkuri bottle of sake, and poured himself a glass in his ochoko cup. Restraining himself, he took a sip of the beloved drink, and put it back down on his desk before reviewing another pile of students.
It had been two weeks since the final year’s classes had ceased and the reviewing process began. That class had six hundred and two students; six hundred and two souls who have been training for the past ten or nine years. The reasoning behind each student was different; why they all wished to be shinobis were not the same. What they hoped to achieve by being a shinobi was different from each other. But the one thing they all shared was they wanted to be a shinobi.
And that dream could be fulfilled, or destroyed, by a single pen stroke.
The Marajin licked his finger and pulled four sheets from a stack. He neatly placed them across his desk.
The Marajin looked at the first student, Orochi Hebi. Of the four, the Marajin was most familiar with Orochi, since they both haired from the same Clan. Detested by the majority of Disbakao, the Hebi clan was infamous for having the blood of the snake god, Susanoo, running through their veins. That, and a Hebi’s ability to stretch their body parts beyond what one could consider human, and you had what some paranoid fools would call demons donning human flesh.
In fact, it was a wonder that Sakurai managed to become a Marajin at all, considering his racial history. But to recall the series of events that brought him to where he was now would take a whole night, and he had a job to do.
The Marajin thought about Orochi some more. It was very common for a Hebi to leave the Academy, or kill themselves out of the sheer amount of inner torture they go through just by breathing. Orochi, on the other hand, seemed to be an exception to the rule: he showed no signs of any sort of depression. His psychological defense was higher than the norm; the Marajin didn’t need to read any document to realize that.
A strong shield against racism made a strong man, but not necessarily a strong shinobi. Taking another sip of sake, the Marajin took a closer look at Orochi.
Everything about the young man seemed to fall into what one would call normal until the Marajin noticed the man was missing for an entire year. Of course, he knew about the scandal; there wasn’t a soul in Disbakao who had at least a slither of the truth (or at least as much truth as was left after all the rumors and gossips). But the only ones who knew the whole truth was the Hebi Clan, himself, and a few of the instructors.
Everything else was well told lies, if well told at all.
But after his return, Orochi returned to become one of the better students Disbakao had to offer. Not exactly a genius, but he certainly showed skills and intelligence that was above the norm.
There were a few other problems, however. One was that he was hard to deal with. The Marajin knew that Orochi was one to cooperate easily with others. The problem was that others had trouble dealing with him; if it weren’t for the rumors, it was his smile. Orochi had what some called a smile of a snake; in almost every situation, he smiled. When angered, he smiled. When insulting, he had a smile. When complimenting, he had a smile. No one knew what his true emotions on anything were.
The Marajin didn’t know what to do with Orochi. He had excellent marks, worked well in a team (even if a team didn’t work well with him), and the Marajin had little doubt he would be one of the greater students to graduate from this year.
But if a team can’t work with Orochi, then its just as bad if Orochi wasn’t a team player to begin with.
With a sigh, the Marajin gave his signature, and pushed him to the succeed pile.
He set eyes on Kaname Uzuki. A very special girl indeed; just by the fact that she specialized purely in the martial arts, or taijutsu, one could get a feeling she exhibited ‘special’ personality traits. If someone actually met the young woman, their suspicions would be a definite yes. Having been raised by one of the more famous female shinobis, the kunoichi Tae Uzuki, Kaname developed quite an over superiority complex. She was also quite the tomboy, acting, moving and talking just as foul (if not worse) than a sake loving grunt.
But her skills were extraordinary; she failed in tactics, espionage, and the other quiet traits one would expect, but give her an enemy that needed every bone in their body to be reduced to dust, and no other student would qualify best for the job than her.
But the Marajin didn’t know everything about the girl. He set his eyes on the notes her Instructors had written. Most of them were minor, such as she was quick to sleep in class, or was more likely to doodle than take notes. The Instructors were very picky these days. At least they weren’t quick to slap a student like the Marajin’s Instructors were thirty or so years ago.
There was a note, however, that caused the Marajin some worry. ‘Kaname is very loud, and almost uncaring in the classroom. On the training field, she was constantly trying to do better than her team mates. Her teams would fail most of the tests as a result.’
What was he to do? Kaname was a rarity among taijutsu users, but if she can’t work with others, she might as well be an idiot among her pupils.
But what if she could learn? Her foster mother was in a similar boat when she was Kaname’s age. And her sensei knocked a few sense into her. Kaname, under the right teacher, could definitely learn the meaning of the word team.
Biting his lip, the Marajin gave his signature. He placed the approved student with the others.
With an uneasy eye, he took a glance at the next pupil: Izumi Tensun. He originally came from the Country of the Storm, and was the subject of a few questionable events. These ‘events’ eventually reached the point to where he was ordered to be assassinated.
He survived all of the assassinations. When the Marajin first heard about this from the Strojin, the Jin of the Academy of Storm, Suvakao, the Hebi could not believe his ears. How could a mere boy survive those attacks? Especially from tajins, who are squad leaders of each choujin team?
These were shinobis that were one rank below of a Jin, and thus, are the second strongest shinobis in each country.
And a boy, a mere seven year old, killed the ones sent for him? Each and every single time?
At that meeting four years ago, the Marajin believed it was a sickening joke. But then, he looked into the eyes of that dark eyed boy. He saw the eyes of someone who was not willing to fall prey to the dark teaching of his native country. He saw the hells every day he had lived, he had fought through the jaws of chaos; and he had survived. His mind was changed, but intact, but his soul was forever changed from the horrors of the Storm.
The Marajin at once knew what the Strojin said was true. Knowing that the boy had a better chance of surviving psychologically in Disbakao then in the world of assassins that was Suvakao, he agreed to buy the poor child.
A master of earth based ninjutsu (shinobi magic), Izumi quickly became a noticeable member of Disbakao. But it wasn’t because of his genius skills. It was because they saw him as a monster just waiting to be released. None of them would dare to examine Izumi, to see what he truly was. The Marajin wanted to say they were wrong, that deep down Izumi had a soul; he had ambitions, dreams, he had a heart.
But, as the years passed, the Marajin saw how Izumi was slowly becoming the very monster that everyone believed him to be. Those years of isolation were slowly changing him.
Now, Izumi’s fate ultimately laid in his hands. There were dozens of ways he could handle this; he could train Izumi personally, but that would affect his already tarnished reputation. One boy was not worth losing the people’s trust in him. There was no way he could lock Izumi up – why the Marajin even considered it he did not know. The people’s dark talks must of have been getting to him.
But then, right out of the blue, an idea came to him. What if he passed Izumi and assigned him a hajin cell as normal? Izumi would interact with other graduates. Perhaps then his heart would be healed.
The Marajin contemplated the possibility. It was a slim chance at best. The possibility was slim – there was a higher chance of his teammates would plunge a dagger in his heart during the night.
But if he had that chance, even if it was a slither of a chance, should Izumi be granted it?
The Marajin with his hands folded below his chin, would stare at the document for a long time. Many beliefs, theories and wishes came into his mind as a result.
He didn’t know when it happened, but he eventually gave his signature. With his best wishes, he tenderly placed the document with the other accepted students. He glanced at it for one last time before setting his eyes on the next student: Shinji Zukachi.
Of the four students that he had randomly grabbed, Shinji was the only one the Marajin would have to rely entirely on the document for any information.
The first thing that the old wise man noticed was the boy’s hair: it was a deep orange. In the Land of the Rising Sun, the vast majority of hair was a deep black, and eyes were brown. Other hair colors, such as blonde and brown, were seen, but they were rarities.
Already, this Shinji Zukachi had gotten the Marajin’s attention. With a small bit of excitement, the Marajin began to read the background on him.
‘Born and raised up to his fifth birthday in an unstated city outside of Disbakao’. After reading that statement, the Marajin paused to consider the complexity of the statement. Disbakao, despite the propaganda of being the Academy of shinobis of honor and dignity, was an elitist city. Those who were citizens of Disbakao, even if they were not shinobis or related to any, considered themselves better than any outsider, a countrymen of the Flame or otherwise. Those who moved into the city, no matter how old or young they were, were looked on as if they were a bug.
When the Marajin read ‘Isolated…alone, rarely seen with others. Not seen with citizens of Disbakao or immigrants’, he was not surprised in the least. Anyone who moved into Disbakao would have to form a community with other immigrants. They had no chance being with a true citizen of Disbakao.
But Shinji, he isolated himself from both classes. The Marajin never heard of anyone do that.
He read on. The document stated that the boy specialized in Fyuujin-Ru style of fire based taijutsu. It was the iconic taijutsu style of Disbakao, a combination of multiple, somewhat over dramatic punches, and, obviously enough, fire. The user forces their chi to form into fire, or more specifically, chi created fire known as kounen, around their hands. Using this, the kounen can become an extended part of the hand, as it were. On top of the burnt damage the target will receive, he also has to deal with the Fyuujin-Ru’s extended range.
But just because it was the icon of Disbakao did not mean the Fyuujin-Ru was easily mastered. If you counted the estimated twenty thousand students that entered the Disbakao Academy over a one hundred year period, only six hundred applied just for the class. Of that six hundred, three hundred survived their training without lighting themselves on fire.
Of that three hundred, only eighty graduated.
It is a style used for those who don’t give a damn about their lives. They risk endangering their lives just by lighting a spark for a candle. To control the kounen, one must have massive chi control as a prime quality. One cannot minor in chi consumption and specialize in Fyuujin-Ru. The two go hand in hand.
The training of Fyuujin-Ru was a team effort – every student was usually paired, usually to compensate each other. This way, they would teach each other what they lack.
But Shinji, he isolated himself. The document said he formed no relationships with anyone.
It stated he trained by himself.
The Marajin read on, expecting to find that Shinji considered him superior to everyone, that he was too proud to train with everyone. ‘Why should I train with you?’ That was a line he was expecting this Shinji Zukachi to say.
But the document proved him wrong. It said that his parents ‘left the world’ around his fifth birthday.
That was when the pieces began to fall into place. The Marajin had seen a few other Shinji’s before; the Loner, the one who lost everything long ago, and would rather walk alone, die alone, than risk facing that pain again.
The Marajin laughed. He laughed so loud that he was afraid he was going to wake everyone up in the vicinity.
If Shinji wanted to be alone, the Marajin was going to make him be with people.
Without even looking at his marks, since to be a Fyuujin-Ru user and be alive this long usually meant you were graded with good marks, he gave his signature and placed the document with the other passed students.
“That’s enough for now”, the Marajin decided. Getting up, placing his quills back in their draw, along with the inkwells, he went for his bed.
He had a feeling this was going to be a very good year.
And his assumptions were rarely wrong.
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