Rotted Rowan

5:5

Countenanceabyss on deviantART created the fanart.

Disclaimer: The beautiful story of Naruto belongs to Kishimoto, as do all his characters. Naasica is the only character that belongs to me.

Warning: All warnings were addressed at the bottom of the second chapter.

Beta: Cyndaquil123

"I am slipping through the cracks of a dark eternity with nothing, but my pain and the paralyzing agony -

to tell me who I am, who I was, uncertainty enveloping my mind 'til I can't break free – "

- Bad Apple

"Chakra... chains?" I repeated the word with a level of uncertainty.

"Mm-hmm," Grandmother hummed. "It is something unique to Uzumaki women. Due to your heritage being over half Uzumaki—three quarters—and you are a woman, you will be able to utilize this ability."

"I have to be a woman to use chakra chains?"

"Yes. When you undergo your first..." Grandmother's smile became a bit more bemused at her next words, "womanly experience it will mean that your chakra has reached a certain level of maturity required to use the chains."

"Womanly experience?"

Grandmother laughed. "Something you will one day partake in once a month."

My stomach dropped. "Oh."

Why couldn't I have been a boy this time?

. . .

. .

.

I fingered the shuriken in my hands before I let out another sharp whistle. Obito surged a little ways in front of me, scrambling to get away. He was blindfolded, with his jacket discarded and folded neatly against a tree. Beside the jacket was a first aid kit.

He was covered in scratches—all shallow, I made sure of that—and he shook a bit on his feet. We were nearing the end of this particular training session—as we would soon lose all light—and I knew he was well past his physical point. He was running on will-power alone at this point.

Something that might have impressed me, once upon a time. But, it didn't.

It was expected of him.

He was battered and bruised from my relentless training session. On some days, Kakashi or I even had to carry him home. Yet, he always came back for more. Even if the sessions were harsh, they fruited obvious progress.

This one, for example, was a variation of the blind-folded running. It harnessed his reaction times, instincts, and evasiveness. I would let out a sharp whistle—giving him one chance to immediately assess where my location was and prepare for an attack from that angle—before launching a shuriken at him. I never aimed for vital spots, but rather only to graze him. Perhaps when he learned to, one day, sense chakra I would no longer need to use sound to notify him, but that day would not come for quite some time.