Naruto : The System Files

Chapter no.112 Deep Thoughts?

The morrow came and it was Sunday. Naruto was grateful for his day of rest and welcomed it eagerly. The week had been exhausting, even with his increasing stamina, and the blond decided that doing absolutely nothing but reading Fuinjutsu poetry after stuffing himself with ramen on top of the Hokage Monument was a perfect way to go about spending his weekly leave.

The weather was great, warm but not burning, dry but not stifling. The view from up the Yondaime's head was breathtaking and there was a slight breeze that made it the perfect spot to be lazy. The blond had brought a blanket to soften the spot he was laying on. His blue eyes were roaming over the parchment of toad poetry he had "borrowed" from the ANBU library; no one would miss it anyway. Naruto had been extremely careful to humidify the scroll ever so very slightly to better its condition. He would need to copy it soon, as it was at risk of falling to dust. With a satisfied sigh, the boy simply enjoyed the moment, a smile on his lips.

Shikamaru was proud of his laziness but he knew nothing of the art. Naruto had understood that, paradoxically, if one wanted to laze comfortably, it required some preliminary efforts. Hence the spot, the cushion, and the read.

Now, Naruto was not one for books in general but there were a few things he enjoyed reading about. Tales of Konoha's founding were always entertaining to read, as they were all about mighty heroes and big battles. They were his guilty pleasure, so to speak.

On a completely different register, chakra and ninjutsu theory was something that fascinated the blond and that he could read about without much trouble. What ninja worth their salt would not be a little curious about the intricacies of their arts? Chakra was the root of everything after all!

Not that the reads were always riveting; in fact, they rarely were. Naruto had perused a number of tomes he had gained access to, had found many of them pretty lacking, and had abandoned halfway more than two-thirds of all he had ever begun. All the books focused on the many practical uses of chakra but none dared to tackle more fundamental questions: what was chakra? Where did it come from? Had it existed since ever?

A certain number of things were simply accepted as axiomatic and never questioned. Some ninjutsu were specific to genetics, there existed only a limited number of mudras -the twelve zodiac animals, their reversed form, and a few others-, some manipulation were straight up impossible… Anyway, it denoted a terrible lack of imagination and daring, 'ttebayo! It was almost the opposite of fuinjutsu, which encouraged students and masters alike to experiment on their craziest ideas. With varying levels of caution, of course.

Finally, Naruto just enjoyed poetry. Reading it but writing just as well, not that he would ever admit to anyone he wrote poetry. Anyone who was not brain dead and who knew of and about the blond's hobby of fuinjutsu necessarily knew it, as the sealing arts were half about poetry but still. Writing poetry was such a not-ninja thing to do. Nobles in their radiant palaces were supposed to write poems, not no-name, orphaned shinobis.

But poetry was an integral part of his sealing hobby and, contrary to the complex geometry which he found curious and interesting but not to the point of enthrallment, he had taken a shine to the verses and the rhymes.

He had driven the Hokage crazy back when he was eight by speaking in rhyme for an entire month until his access to Ichiraku's Ramen had been put into consideration.

Naruto lifted his azure eyes from his scroll for a second, taking in the view of Konoha sprawled below him, and frowned, his eyes tightening and his guts clenching. For a while now, the view had been taunting him, keeping him from reading anything truly. Thousands of houses of all size, mainly made of wood, the vast majority painted white, with roof tiled blue-green or ochre, were visible in-between copse of trees. The forest surrounding Konoha did not stop at the city walls, it extended inside the city proper. Konoha was a labyrinth both because of its non-existent urban planning and the trees growing absolutely everywhere; the city bore its name well.

The blood took a whiff of the breeze, closing his eyes to focus on the scents the wind was carrying. Earth, wood, and flowers were the easily distinguishable fragrances. Mixed in were more subtle scents, some Naruto could name, some he could not. The blond always had a good nose, nowhere near an Inuzuka's but better than the majority of his classmates.

It smelled like home. Naruto scowled. It had been more than two weeks since he had come here. The last time had been to wash the aftermath of his last prank under the watchful eyes of Iruka. It was a breach of a long-lasting habit of his to come on the Fourth Hokage's head to remind himself of his dream when all that had been on his mind was getting the hat for himself. Ramen and fuinjutsu notwithstanding.

It had been a really pathetic dream in retrospect, nothing but the fantasies of a child who did not understand the life he had nor the one he wanted to lead for what they really were. Two weeks in ANBU and Naruto was barely beginning to understand what being a ninja was about, much less being Hokage. That was not even considering the reasons for his ambitions, something the blond had already concluded was wrong. For someone who prided himself of never daydreaming or at least with moderation, it had been the worst kind of daydream. Fuelled by incomprehension, ignorance, and a good dose of foolishness but still.

It felt so far away. Had he ever been so little? So immature? How much was he still? Those two weeks seemed like two months and he learned daily.

It was partly because of yesterday's lesson that he was here today. The last time he had been here, he did not know anything. Today, he knew almost too much.

Coming to sit on the Yondaime's sculpted head was not something that had begun with his old dream. His old dream had begun here. The first time he had been here, it was to find a refuge. When the harsh glares, the whispered insults, the twitchy nervousness, the crass bullying had become too much, Naruto Uzumaki had sought a refuge where crying would be okay. The Yondaime's head was his sanctuary, the place he rested in-between the battles that were his life.

People did not grasp what it truly meant to be ostracized by the near entirety of the village one was supposed to live in. As much as Naruto liked Iruka, the Ichiraku, and the Sarutobi, they were but a fraction of Konoha's population. The elevated position above the village was not only a place of reprieve for Naruto. Yesterday, it had elevated him, bringing him closer to his ambitions. Today, it allowed him to tower over all those fearful, ignorant, ungrateful, mediocre, hateful villagers.

It had been Tiger's warning about festering emotions that had made Naruto think. It had made the blond think about things he thought were solved. It was simple, he was not supposed to resent the villagers. They did not know, after all, they did not understand. He was not supposed to be envious. He was not supposed to begrudge their happiness. It was supposed to be counterproductive, unhealthy, unworthy of Naruto Uzumaki. So he had come here to prove to himself that he wasn't feeling any of that.

Yet here he was, angry.

There were no two ways about it. He was angry at the villagers and he was glad to have disappeared in the darkness, where he did not have to gaze upon a sight he both loved and despised equally strongly. In ANBU, he wasn't reminded daily of what he never had. It lay his anger to rest, put it on hold. Where he was now, he could not see the hypocrites and the traitors, those who worshipped the man's sacrifice in the name of the Will of Fire, while hating on the child's.

He had directed all of his anger at his grandfather to not be tempted to direct it at those who deserved it.

He could not talk to anyone about it. He did not know who to talk to. He did not know if it would do him any good anyway. Was a jinchuuriki allowed to hate his home? Would the Hokage understand? His grandfather had accepted his anger against him but would the leader of Konoha accept his anger against his village?

How was he supposed to work through all that?

Naruto sighed deeply. Self-awareness might make him a better ninja but it had its own baggage of problems. Namely, uncomfortable questions. Uncomfortable questions that he would not allow to get between him and his toad poetry. With a resolute frown, Naruto returned his eyes on the scroll.