Blood is Thicker Than Mist

Chapter 7

Shizuhiko crawled out of bed much later than he usually did. Because of both of his guardian's schedules, he had grown up waking early on his own in order to prepare for the day's routine of breakfast and being dropped off with Sakinami. Then, he'd immediately begin his lessons in reading, writing, and arithmetic with the other children. They'd play while lunch was being prepared, eat, and then they would receive practical lessons of medicine and first aid from the elders, or other important skills for island life such as fishing, net-making, or diving. Thanks to Mei's supplemental lessons, he was among the best in most subjects, but as his shinobi training had become more serious, he felt more like an outsider compared to his peers. His instincts paired with muscle memory made it a struggle for him to play or compete with the others: he had trouble scaling back his heightened senses or strength. It made him feel proud of his own progress, but the alienation from his friends whom he had been raised with always made his chest ache.

He would have been more than happy to show his peers what he had learned so that they could all play and practice together as equals, but the adults would not allow most talk of shinobi or Jutsu. He had always known that it was related to the tragedies they had suffered, but now he bit his lip as he thought of his second home again, now understanding more than he had before. Now he understood why Zabuza had given him the rule to never speak of Mei or show off any of his Jutsu. He hadn't fully comprehended, but now he felt only guilt for all of the times he'd snuck out while everyone slept to practice his Jutsu.

The boy rubbed his eyes, shuffled to the bathroom– with unnaturally quiet steps as a result of his training– and set to preparing for breakfast. Once he had relieved himself and washed his face, he stared long and hard into the mirror. He didn't often think of his biological parents but when in front of a mirror, sometimes he made different faces and wondered which parent he took after most for each look. There were times when he wished that he looked more like Mei or Zabuza. Having the Uzumaki red hair would certainly be much closer to Mei's auburn instead of his bright blond mop of hair. He was proud that his biological father had been such a famous shinobi, known far and wide for his speed and skill, but sometimes the boy wasn't happy with how much he resembled the Fourth Hokage. It was especially due to the strong resemblance that Zabuza and Mei wouldn't let him go out in public with them. His status as a 'missing child' in Konoha, and being a Jinchuriki aside, he still wanted to see all of Kirigakure and meet new people. He wanted to be immersed in the shinobi world, the world that he had been so sheltered from but the world that both sets of his parents belonged to.

He furrowed his blond brows and nodded at his reflection. This would be the day he convinced his father to let him be like a real ninja, he thought, for sure. He wouldn't give up with that goal. He was already five years old, after all, and the longer it took for him to become strong, the longer that the bad people were in charge and kids like him suffered. More than anything he wanted to fight alongside his guardians and save the Mist from its darkness so that his friends didn't have to be sad or worried anymore. He was going to be a hero.

Shizuhiko listened carefully and heard the telltale sound of a fresh pot of tea being made and smelled breakfast being prepared. By smell alone he could tell that it was Mei doing the cooking. Zabuza stuck with simple rice dishes but Mei would prepare his favorite rice porridge with plums, a hearty omelet, dried seaweed, and bacon. On cold mornings she would have a soothing cup of hot chocolate ready for him. He drew in a big breath and smiled at the delicious variety of scents, knowing that Mei had made all of his favorites this morning. And, what excited him most, was how there would probably be enough left over for lunch.

He hurried into the kitchen and grinned at the woman that stood at the stove with her back to him. She didn't turn his way but she lifted her hand slightly in a wave.