Yusei

I was three years old when I remembered my death.

It's not surprising that it took so long. After all, an infant's brain doesn't understand the concept of object permanence. It takes time for the human mind to develop to the point where it's capable of handling memories from another lifetime.

Unfortunately, my three-year-old mind was not prepared to remember my sickness, decline, and subsequent death. I became a quiet child, hiding from the other children at the orphanage- I wasn't like them, I couldn't pretend to be a child like them, Surely they'd look at me and know I was different. The other children in my age group were stupid, though, and barely noticed my withdrawal. Real children, my traitorous mind supplied, of course they're not smart enough.

My now capable mind continued to awaken, and I remembered more of the life that had been taken from me. Broad strokes, at first, but by my fourth birthday I had the complete picture. I had the knowledge and experiences of my forty years- a lifetime as a scientist and a programmer, years of academia, math that never existed in this world (if the technology our little orphanage possessed was any indicator)- plus a little bit… extra. I'd never spoke Japanese, for example, but now I possessed a native fluency. Even with my adult mind, I retained a childlike aptitude for learning. My brain remained in a state of rapid growth: I could learn anything.

I had to get out of this orphanage. I had to see the world. I had to figure out where or when I was, and what I needed to do to win. (I had theories, of course, based on my observations. Some alternate universe where japan survived the apocalypse? Sounded absurd, and I'd definitely have a better idea if I could get to a library… if they had libraries? I couldn't take it for granted that such a thing would exist here.)

Getting out of the orphanage would be a good first step. I was definitely going to go insane if I had to put up with these stupid little children much longer.

But who would take a four year old seriously?

"Be on your best behavior," the matron tells us, "And don't come out to the common area until I call you. It wouldn't do to upset him now, would it?"

She had to be talking about the man in the green vest. He'd come in about thirty minutes ago, and the older children had started whispering, "This is it! This is our chance!" And a word I hadn't expected to hear at all- "Ninja!"

From what I could see, the man definitely wasn't a black-clad assassin of the night. He was definitely fit, though, with a build I only associated with professional athletes and the posture of a soldier. Maybe these were his street clothes, and he only wore his ninja robes at night?

If he really was a ninja, the matron was right: it wouldn't do to upset him at all.

She continues: "And the academy is a great opportunity for you to make something of yourself. Now then- Aito, Nozomi, Daichi, and Ren- Come along, you're first. The rest of you can stay here."

An academy? My curiosity awoke.

Some children were peeking out the window, checking to see what kind of tests the man is going to administer. I join them, climbing the stacked cots to see a little more clearly.

Pushups, sprints, punches, throwing weapons. Not really my cup of tea. I wanted to get out of the orphanage, yes, but enlisting probably wouldn't be the way to do it. I retreat from the window, and another child quickly fills the resulting gap.

The matron returns and calls a few more names every so often, but I'm no longer interested and tune her out. That is, until I hear my own name.

"Yusei."

Okay. Sure. I'll probably fail this tryout anyways, so it's nothing to stress about. Definitely.

"Yusei," the matron called again, "Follow me, please."

Instead of taking me to the common area, she leads me to the orphanage's administrative office. It's a simple, undecorated room, with a low table taking up most of the space in the center. The green-vested man, presumably a ninja, kneels at one side of the table. As I entered the room, he gestures for me to sit at the other.

Separated by only a few feet, I get my first good look at him. He is young, perhaps in his late teens, with short brown hair and gentle green eyes. He wears a simple black turtleneck under his heavy green vest- some sort of flak jacket, I realize. His olive pants had a few too many bulges to be explained by the (sizable) number of pockets, suggesting more body armor. And on his left bicep, he wears a dull metal plate attached to a blue cloth band. He shifts slightly, and as the plate catches the light, I notice a spiral carved into it.

"Hello, Yusei," he begins, in a kind voice. He's used to working with children. "I'm Kosuke, a teacher at the academy."

I heard the door click shut behind me. Kosuke looks past me and nods to whoever's now there. Craning my neck to see over my shoulder, I see a man dressed much the same as Kosuke, but with a short black ponytail and a goatee. Maybe a little bit older, too.

I hadn't heard his footsteps. That must be a ninja skill.

He nods back to Kosuke, and turns his eyes to me. Embarrassed to have been caught looking, I quickly turn back to the table.

"You're treating me differently," I point out to Kosuke. "You made them do pushups outside. What exactly is this?"

"He is quick," the other man murmurs.

Kosuke smiles. "This is an offer, Yusei. Do you want to be a ninja?"

"No. Why me?"

"Hear us out, okay? You're smart. Anyone who talks to you can tell in an instant. Konohagakure could use you. We can teach you things nobody else will-"

I cut him off. "What can you teach me? How to kill other four year olds in the dark of the night? I think I'll pass. I'm not assassin material."

Shikaku

"...I'm not assassin material."

I don't know what I expected from this kid, but that was definitely not it.

It's a simple fact that most prodigies are born into ninja clans- the Uchiha and the Hatake, for some famous examples. They grow up around their elite ninja parents, siblings, and cousins, learning the basics of chakra and how to throw a kunai before they can walk. When the time comes, they jump at the chance to participate in the family business.

So it's strange enough to discover a genius in a civilian orphanage, and stranger still to be so openly rejected by him.

And this kid's definitely a genius. I don't even have to administer the usual tests- even Kosuke can see the intelligence in his eyes. But, smart as he is, Yusei doesn't really know much about what a ninja is. Just that he doesn't want to be one.

And Kosuke has no idea how to convince him otherwise.

"Kosuke." My turn.

We switch places. The kid eyes me suspiciously.

"So you're the boss?"

I shrug. "Not really."

"Why do you think you'll change my mind?"

We normally test child prodigies with a standardized gamut of puzzles and strategy games. I put one of these puzzles, a set of interlocking rings that have to be disentangled in a specific way, on the table. Yusei's eyes lock on to it, and I can see his little brain churning for about 3 seconds.

And then he's done. He hasn't touched the toy, but I know he's solved it. I slide it to the side, and put a small red puzzle box in front of him.

It holds his attention for less than a second.

"I could be a carpenter."

It's a non sequitur. "I don't follow."

"Or even a toymaker. I could play these games for a living. Hell, I could even make better puzzles. Then your ninja recruits would never have to be as bored as I am right now."

The kid's kind of an asshole. It'd be hilarious in any other situation, but right now it just feels like I'm losing.

Kosuke's barely holding back his laughter.

"Alright, Yusei. How's this? We'll do one game. If you're still bored, I'll leave you alone and you can… do whatever you kids do for fun around here." He doesn't want to lose, but winning our little match isn't much better for him. I can see him weighing the boredom he thinks the academy will be against the boredom he already knows at this orphanage.

"Have you ever played shogi?" He hasn't, so I'm already explaining the rules to him as I pull out my storage scroll. Yusei nods along as I talk about the placement of the pieces, and I almost miss how his eyes dart to the scroll.

I don't miss his reaction as I pass my finger over the seal, bringing out the board and shogi tiles.

We set up the board and begin to play, but he's clearly focused on the storage seal he's just seen. I can tell it just blew his mind.

I win handily. Because like hell this four year old is going to beat me at a game I've spent twenty years playing. (At least not his first time. Eat your heart out, beginner's luck.)

"How did you do that?" He's not asking about the game.

"Well, you can't write off your pawns as useless. They're an integral part of any winning strategy." The game we're playing isn't confined to a board.

And I just won.