Disclaimer: The anime and manga 'Naruto', including the lovely weapon mistress Tenten, were created by Masashi Mishimoto and his respective partners. I'm not making any money with this fanfic.

Author's notes: Tenten. What a fascinating character, yet so little information of her is given, and so little appreciation she seems to get.

However, this is not a place for me to go into detail of what I think of her and her character. No, this is a place for me to give her tribute in the only way I can; I have no skill with photoshop, I've never been into painting or drawing, poems are not my cup of tea, and I've read enough essays on our beloved weapon mistress to convince myself that all the things I could say have already been said. So, the only option left for me is to write. Write a lot.

This story will be long. With it, I plan to illustrate Tenten's life from her birth to her fateful mission. With it, I plan to give her a background she more than deserves. With it, I plan to pay my tribute to her. So, as you can see, I have quite a lot of work ahead of me.

So, here is The Unwilling Kunoichi, chapter one. Read and enjoy - giving feedback is voluntary, but much appreciated.

The Unwilling Kunoichi - Chapter one
by Haggath

I never wanted to be a ninja.

I pulled a kunai out of my body. I felt its edge with my fingers, marvelling on the craftsmanship before lowering it on the ground next to the other knives.

The life expectancy of a ninja is ridiculously short.

The next Kunai had sunken a good deal into my right shoulder from the back, and it was a bit trickier to detach than the last one. I winced at the pain as my trembling hand grabbed the handle, and gritted my teeth together as I pulled it free. Bringing it in front of my face, I stared blank-faced at its bloody surface. It was amazing just how much blood I still had in my body, even after removing half a dozen throwing knives from their wounds.

Ninjas die alone.

The last throwing knife couldn't be removed. It had been thrown with such a force that it had pierced through me and pinned me against the tree I now leaned against. Worse still, it had caught me right below my left lung, and was bleeding more than all the others combined. I knew that if I dared to move it, I'd die from blood loss in a matter of minutes.

There will be no glory, no beauty, in neither life nor death of a ninja.

Luckily, my opponent looked a lot worse than I did. He had been a ninja of Sound, probably chuunin or jounin level. I had caught the poor man right in the middle of my Rising Twin Dragons technique. He had literally fallen into pieces, but not before managing to hurl several projectiles at my direction - more like in a blind, desperate fashion than calculated way, but still managing to hit his target. I grinned at my mistake before sighing, and felt how something rose up my throat. I coughed against my uninjured hand, confirming my fears. Blood. It seemed the last kunai had managed to pierce my lung after all.

Ninjas are the tools of warfare.

I leaned back, trying to relax my muscles and ease my breathing. I held no illusions; I knew I was going to die. My team was scattered, and my current position was far from any of the rendezvous point. There shouldn't be any friendly shinobi designated to this location, and even if they happened to walk nearby by accident, I had no means to signal them without signalling the enemy at the same time. I heard the fighting go on in the distance, yells and explosions going on in the otherwise silent, peaceful night. There was no way to determine who was winning.

I never wanted to be a ninja. I never wanted to go on this mission, either.

The noise in the background became more slurred as I paid less attention to it due to my combined exhaustion and the blood loss, and I found myself drifting deep into my mind. My own thoughts and memories were far more alluring than the aching pain of my body or the distant sounds of killing and suffering. I turned my gaze upwards, past the trees, and caught a glimpse of the night sky between the tree tops. I frowned. The night was too good to be spent on a mission.

It's not like someone asked for my opinion about this mission, anyway. And even if they had, I wouldn't have said anything about it being a bad idea.

I smiled a bitter smile. That's how it has always been, I suppose. I've never voiced my disagreement or doubt, not when it came to the importantthings: Missions, teams, becoming a ninja, stuff like that.

I think I caught the idea from my mother. She never said what she thought about missions, either - not even about her last one that cost her life. As the thought entered my mind, I coughed up some more blood before relaxing my breathing again. I really had come to my mother, more than I ever wanted.

But now I'm confusing even myself. Seeing that we're going this way, me having a life-flashes-in-front-of-your-eyes experience, I might as well make it as comprehensible as possible and start at the place where you usually start - the beginning.

---

I haven't yet met anyone who could remember the very beginning. Y'know, the bright light, the cold air, the feeling when you're pushed out of your mother's womb - that stuff. I don't remember anything about the first year of my life, either, but some people do. But those people are something above average, something exceptional.

I'm not exceptional.

I think the first thing I remember is my mother; her blue eyes, her flowing chocolate hair, her kind, smiling face, the softness of her arms, her distinctive aroma that reminds me of fresh bread nowadays. She loved to bake. I can remember eating fresh buns often for breakfast, but that comes in later. I remember her kind, soothing voice that could turn to steel in a matter of milliseconds when I did something bad or dangerous, and then melt back to that oh-so-motherly voice as soon as the situation was over.

Mother was a kunoichi, and she often let me to the care of my father when she was away on missions. It's only natural that my next memory was of him. He was not a shinobi, but instead a weaponsmith. I remember how he often took me into an embrace that smelled like smoke and fire, but in a comforting, homey way. His dark hair was short, his arms were strong, and he only had one, dark-blue eye - many smiths lose one eye because of the embers that fly in their workshop. My father's voice was much like himself: Rough around the edges, and he had trouble putting emotions to it. He was a rather stoic man when it came to most things, and clearly had trouble to understand what was the best way to treat his daughter - I suppose he wanted to have a son, I never asked - but he was a quick learner, and by the time I was three, he was fully adapted to his "brown-haired angel", as he sometimes - very rarely - called me.

I suppose out the things that weren't directly about my parents, the rest of my family was the next thing I remember. It wasn't big, and it sure didn't have a strong influence to Konoha like the Uchihas and Hyuugas did - but it was my family and it stick together. That's what matters, right? I had several aunts, uncles, and cousins, but very few of them were even close to my age, so I really didn't have friends to play with from among my family - only aunts that showered me with sweets and uncles that complimented me. It wasn't that bad. The biggest difference among my family was that most of my relatives from my father's side were craftsmen and merchants, whereas many of mother's relatives were ninjas. I suppose it brought its own tension during the times we gathered together, but I can't say I noticed it.

Despite that mother was a ninja, she and dad got along nicely as far as I can remember. I don't know what her rank was, and I haven't been nosing around to find out, but she sometimes spent long periods of time away from home, leaving me and father to take care of each other. It worked surprisingly well - he was a firm, level-headed man who did his best to take care of this little girl's silly ideas and childish enthusiasm and pulled it off with grace. I mean, look at me. I didn't end up a nutcase, did I?

Don't answer.

Besides, it's not like any of us had the right complain: There were many orphans and single parents around, thanks to the Fox-Demon, and we were an intact, healthy family. We were lucky.

That changed a little before I turned five. I remember it well. It was the first time I came across the feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

---

I ran home from the kinder-garden, despite the fact that mother and father had told me not to run on the streets. I couldn't help it. I was too happy and excited to walk. Mother was coming home today, and she had promised she wouldn't have to leave anywhere in a long time.

'We can spend all day playing and drawing and signing and having fun!' I chanted in my mind, so happy that I could burst. 'Perhaps mama will come to the kinder-garden with me to see all my friends, too. Or I can invite them to our house, now that mama is home.' I loved being in the kinder-garden, I really did. I was the only child, and it was really the only place where I could see kids of my age. It came with its downsides, of course; many children there had no 'mama' or 'papa', and it was a subject we were silently - sometimes not so silently, but more privately - ordered to avoid. A child's mind was easily distracted, though, and the one forbidden thing was easily forgotten in the warm atmosphere, even though I did wonder every now and then why we shouldn't talk of our parents too loudly.

I didn't have to wonder for very long.

I think that child's mind is, despite its incompleteness, very quick to pick up things from such simple things as atmosphere only and react to it. I suppose I should credit my father for smiling sweetly and speaking words so that one couldn't say if something was wrong or not, but right after I entered the house and my cheerful yell for my mother went unanswered, I knew that something was off.

There was no answer even as I repeated my call in a perplexed voice. I walked into the house, and I still don't know why I walked into the kitchen, but it was there I found my father with an ANBU. Normally, I would've noticed the animal mask and the presence of a person I didn't know in our house before all else, but this time was different. My father was a stern man, the kind who has trouble showing his more tender side around people - that included me too, to a lesser extent -, but this time he sat still in his chairs, his arms crossed on the table, with a look that spoke of more emotions than I had ever seen on his face.

I was confused, and more than slightly worried. My worry deepened when the ANBU turned to look at me before my father did. When he finally did, he smiled at me in a way I couldn't recall seeing before, and motioned me to come closer to him. I hesitated because of the man I didn't know, but did as told nonetheless.

"What's wrong, papa? Are you hurt?" God, how I wanted to ask where mother was. I didn't know how I was able to keep it within me. My father ruffled my hair in response with the unfamiliar smile still on his face. I pouted. "Papa, you'll mess up my hair! Sakura took a long time doing it!" Yes, I did know Sakura back then, from the kinder-garden. I don't think she remembers me, though.

"I'm all right, sweetie." His answer didn't ease my anxiousness, and I didn't know why. "Listen, I have something to tell you, and I'm afraid it's something you don't like to hear, but be a good girl and deal with it, okay?" Father was referring to my childish habit of plucking my ears and running away making racket whenever I knew there was going to be something I didn't want to hear. This time, the thought didn't even cross my mind, but I didn't tell him that.

He sighed. "I'm afraid mama isn't coming home today." I felt tears pricking on the corners of my eyes already. "She ran into some trouble, and I know she really did her best to make it in time, but she just couldn't make it." I bit down my wail. I was a spirited girl, and I knew father didn't like to see me cry, so I stayed strong for his sake. His bluff would've gone through if he had been able to stay strong, too.

"So when is mama coming home?" I could feel father's hand sliding off my hair. I felt cold. I could feel how father swallowed nervously, but his voice didn't falter - yet.

"Sweetie, I don't really know. It might take a long time, perhaps longer than ever so far." I couldn't help the sob that escaped from my mouth or the tears that fell down from my eyes.

"But I don't wanna wait that long! I want mama to be home with us again!" Father didn't look at me. "Will you promise she'll be home soon?" My father always kept his promises. He didn't answer, and I turned at the stranger who was silently observing the two of us - don't ask why I did that, I have trouble figuring that out myself. "Will you, mister?" The ANBU didn't even flinch, but I knew that I had just done something bad - not bad in a forbidden way, but bad in a way of what was going to follow - kind of like in a way when you've just plugged in something that you know is broken and then flick the switch, know what I mean?

Anyway, I suppose I had it coming. One can't hide from the truth forever, and my luck had been running short ever since I set foot in our house.

"Child," the ANBU began in a colourless voice, his red, swirling eyes glaring at me from beneath his mask. "Your mother will not be coming back." I don't really recall what my father did. Perhaps he tried to grasp the man or perhaps clasp his hands over his daughter's ears, his daughter who had suddenly become as still as a statue. Whatever he did, it wasn't enough to prevent me from hearing the dreadful news.

"Your mother is dead."

I learned two things that day, even though it took years to realize them.

One, ignorance truly is bliss.

And two, Uchiha Itachi really is a heartless bastard.

---

I don't have a clear memory of the following month. I vaguely remember I was crying, crying and hating everything and everyone. It was pointless, but satisfying, seeing the world in a blazing red colours rather than oppressing shades of grey and black. I know because that was what the world looked like after I couldn't hate any longer.

I think my father was the person who finally made me stop my crying and hating. Make no mistake, he was the person I hated the most, because he was always around and took care of me. Still, it wasn't my gratitude for him that made me come down on earth again, but rather the knowledge that he had lost something important as well and was hurting even more than I did.

Yeah, it took me a month to come up with that simple truth. I was a kid, after all.

I went back to the kinder-garden roughly a month after the news of my mother's demise. Even then, I knew I had no right to act like the drama queen; I had simply lost my mother, and that was, like I said, very common those days.

It was nothing special.

The world was still grey even after three months, but it was slowly getting better, for both me and my father. We didn't really do that much to cheer up each other, but instead got colours back to our world outside our home. For me, that place was the kinder-garden, place where all my friends were, place where I could happily join in the games and other activities knowing that I wouldn't be reminded of my pain. For my father, it was his workshop, where he could concentrate on his work and forget everything else. Our family also proved to be of great help, and it was very common for the two of us to go and visit some of my relatives who, for the most time, welcomed us with open arms.

I think it was one of my uncles - or maybe one of my cousins - that eventually presented me with the idea of becoming a ninja. At that time, I declined it vehemently, and to my credit, I did it without tears when the thought led me back to my mother. Whoever came up with the suggestion didn't press it any further, and the incident was soon forgotten, fortunately. The word 'ninja' was one of those words I associated with my mother, and therefore, I wanted the word to stay out of my life - as ridiculous as it may sound, coming from someone living in a hidden ninja village.

The silliness of that desire was soon proved, as another person who was connected to that dreadful word stepped into my life.

Her name was Miyu - at least that's what father called her, and I picked it up. I don't think I ever caught her surname. She showed up at our house some six months after the news of my mother's death, and I was the one who let her in. I remember her being polite and timid right from the beginning, often turning her bluish grey eyes away when they had remained in an eye contact for too long. She was rather small for an adult; her height wasn't much and her frame wasn't very rich, either. It was oddly fitting to her nature.

Before anything else, she asked if I was Tenten. At least she had some sense in her head to begin with that question rather than with something else. After I had replied that I was, she smiled in shy fashion and inspected me with her gaze. Now, I was by no means an ugly child, and this was simply a stranger looking at me, but for the first time in my life, I started to wonder what I looked like - her gaze felt like a test I knew I had to pass.

She averted her gaze to the side soon enough, and whatever she thought, she didn't say it. She asked me to take her to my father, and being the well-mannered child I was, I obeyed without a second thought, leading her to my father's workshop.

She never told me if I had passed the test or not. I never bothered asking.

That wasn't the last time I saw of Miyu. In the following weeks, she appeared several times in a similar fashion at our front door, getting friendlier and friendlier every time - she told me her name at the third visit, but I had found out about it from my father after her first visit. I didn't tell her that. Every time she visited us - or my father, as it seemed -, she stayed a bit longer, until eventually her seventh (or was it eight?) visit lasted long enough for the dinner time to come, and my father hadn't had time to prepare food - he wasn't a great cook, but he knew how to cook basic food. After I had informed my father impatiently of this through the closed door that led to his workshop, he finally realized how much time had passed.

But it wasn't him that came out of that workshop to prepare food. Instead, it was Miyu, asking me in that timid fashion of hers to come and help her with the dinner, barely able to look into my eyes long enough to speak out her request.

The dinner that night was more than slightly awkward, there being three participants instead of the usual two.

That's how Miyu came to my life, stepping into the place that had been empty since my mother's death. There were no words exchanged about the subject, not between me and her or me and father. I suppose that was the good way, the only way to do it. I don't know how I would've reacted if father had told me I was going to have a step-mother, and so soon after mother's demise. Instead, I just silently accepted Miyu's presence in our house when she kept company to my father and helped out in daily tasks.

That doesn't mean I was happy about it, of course. We got off rocky, me treating her like a stranger for several months, and not showing father any interest to even consider talking about the subject. She was a smart one, though. She didn't push our relationship, but simply silently waited for me to get more comfortable with her around - I guess she also took her time to adapt to me. But, that still didn't change that I acted as cold and indifferent as was possible for a five-year-old - soon to be six - girl to act.

As cold as the shower Miyu got from me was, it was nothing compared to the one I gave my father. He and I had had a close relationship, even before mother had died, and now I even sometimes was as cold and proper to him as I was to Miyu. Now that I think back, I really must've broken his heart the way I acted. But, let's be honest, I don't think I could be blamed: I was a young girl who had her mother snatched away from her, and whose father had betrayed her memory by seeking comfort in other woman's arms. I couldn't understand him even if I wanted to.

That was, at least, what I wanted to think.

---

I was sitting on the edge of my bed, staring into the mirror that hung on my wall, trying not to look at the comb or the hands that worked on my hair.

My hair was getting longer and longer, meaning I had to take more time every day to make it look good and neat. Five minutes earlier, I had been combing my hair in the bathroom, using a hand mirror in addition to the bathroom mirror to make my hair fall gracefully below my shoulders. That's where Miyu found me.

I was aware of the silence in my room, the sound of combing unnaturally loud in my ears. But, the silence wasn't awkward. Not to us. To me and Miyu, it was a normal way to interact, to be silent, try to help each other, and avoid hurting each other with words in the process. There were numerous subjects I didn't like to talk about - not with her or anyone else, really -, and she was a timid, shy person who didn't want anyone else any harm. Being careful just came natural to her.

That was partially why I was surprised she had come up with the suggestion to comb my hair. It was a giant leap in the relationship between the two of us, and she had never taken such a bold step before, because she knew moving too quickly might've shattered the delicate relationship we two had. We both knew that much.

Knowing all this, I really have trouble answering why I came up with the next question. Perhaps it was because Miyu had chosen to further deepen our relationship, and I felt I had to do something as well, like it would've been a contest - which is really, really stupid, but remember that I was just a child back then. Perhaps it was an accident, something that was meant to stay unspoken in my thoughts and never see the light of day. Or perhaps it was just an emotional outburst to break free of the suffocating situation that had lasted for over four months already.

"Did you have a family?" I felt how her hands stopped working on my hair. The silence became even heavier. Being the one who had called it, I had to speak up. "Your ring," I spoke quietly, never taking my eyes off the mirror. "You wear a ring." She and father had never announced marriage, or anything even closely related to it. And father didn't wear his ring anymore. Kids are sharp, eh?

The silence stretched on, hanging above us like a dark cloud. Could it be that so simple words could tear it all apart? I knew Miyu wasn't my mother, not even close, but I didn't like the idea of losing yet another maternal figure. My gaze swooped down on the floor, and I regretted the words I had said so freely.

Slowly, the hands started moving again. Miyu's voice has always been quiet, she had never raised her voice in my vicinity, and this time wasn't an exception in the slightest.

"You're very perceptive, Tenten," she admitted, but I couldn't tell if she was pleased for it or not. "Yes, I used to have a family. My husband was a ninja." At this point, I could feel how my body tensed at the mention of that word. Miyu's fingers worked carefully with my hair, as if it would've been the finest silk in the world. "We didn't have any children. We didn't have time to." I dared to look sideways at my step-mother. Her eyes were closed. I followed her lead. "He was killed during the Kyuubi's attack five years ago."

Like I said, I didn't know for sure why I opened my mouth in the first place. What I did know, however, was that I hadn't intended it to hurt both of us. And I sure hadn't meant to get any kind of greater insight on just why my father had hooked up with Miyu.

In any case, there I was; sitting on the edge of my bed, eyes shut, my lower lip between my teeth, my hands gripping the bedsheets until my knuckles turned white, and doing my best not to cry. My step-mother had lowered her hands and was fingering the comb with a sorrowful look in her eyes. It amazed me just how many types of silences were there, and just how bad that current one felt.

Father and Miyu were alike. They had both known what it was like to live in a relationship that could come to an abrupt end anytime, and they had both experienced the worst-case scenario coming true. Perhaps my father had it harder, perhaps he had it better: He had me, but I wasn't exactly what you could call a perfect model for a loving daughter. More so, I was holding Miyu's presence against him - although silently - whereas I should've tried to see things from his point of view. I felt, for the first time in my life, really sick without having a fever. I started to realize that my father's and Miyu's relationship was deeper than I could probably imagine - and that it wasn't, by no means, a way for my father to love another woman again.

"The pain doesn't go away. But, it fades. Kind of like…" A sad smile graced her features as I looked up at Miyu, her blonde locks dangling above my face. Had I shifted closer to her unintentionally? "When you scrape your knee: First it bleeds and hurts, but then the bleeding stops and it doesn't hurt anymore - unless you touch the wound. You understand?" I couldn't recall ever sharing a moment like this with her, either, but I really didn't care. I nodded mutely, fighting against tears. Father always wanted me to be a strong girl who didn't cry. "But, unlike a scraped knee, which stops hurting in time, this pain will never really go away." Up until this point, I wasn't sure if she was talking about herself or me. I didn't wonder for long.

"Not even when you're an adult, Tenten." She hadn't probably meant her speech to be scary, but I was still frightened. Pulling my legs on the bed, I hugged my knees, burying my face against the skin of my thighs. I could feel how something hot trickled down from my eyes. I didn't trust my voice, and Miyu's voice had become quieter and more fragile than usual, too. Her words were no more than a whisper.

"I'm glad that I met your father." Their relationship wasn't about love, or trying to feel something they had once lost. It was about coping. It was about surviving, understanding, and comforting. I don't know which hurt me more: the fact I had been so angry and cold at my father, the sorrow of losing my mother that resurfaced in my mind again, or the deep sadness of the situation between us three. Perhaps it was all those three together.

I don't know how long we stayed like that, me shaking against my knees, and Miyu looking sorrowfully over me. I never indicated that I'd be in need of comfort, and I'm glad Miyu didn't push it. We had just came longer in the last five minutes than we had in the last three months, and it wasn't like she was going to get greedy just for the sake of her own maternal instincts. Still, she didn't leave, either, not until I raised my gaze, wiped the tears off my face and lowered my legs back. I heard and felt how my step-mother stood up from my side, the comb in her hands.

"Miyu?" My voice was shaky, but not desperate - steady, but not totally controlled. She turned to look at me with her eyes that had gotten back their trademark shyness. "Could you please do my hair again? I think I ruined it when it got between my face and knees." She smiled. I dared a small smile as well. Perhaps our relationship was about understanding as well.

---

I never wanted to have a step-mother.

But if I was going to have one anyway, I'm glad it was Miyu.

I like to think that day was a kind of a new beginning. I got down from my high horse of being cold to father and handling Miyu like a nanny and decided I didn't want to feel sad anymore. I couldn't go back to the girl I had been before mother had died, but I got pretty close. I was generally happier, brighter, and more interested in the things children of that age usually are: Toys, TV shows, friends, games, drawing, singing, you name it. I think father got a bit better, too, seeing me acting more like his daughter and less like a miniature block of ice. Miyu was Miyu; still timid and polite, careful not to stress things between me and her - but I could tell she was happy for me, too. I'd wager that her own discomfort was lessened more by my father's renewed state than directly my own mood, but I could never tell for sure. I wouldn't hold it against her if that was the case, anyway.

This was the situation when I turned seven years old.

I've always liked my birthdays, you know. I always got two different parties each day: They'd throw me one in the kinder-garden - which, for the last year, had been a pre-school - with my friends, and there was cake and cookies and laughter and games and fun, and then I'd get one later on in my house with at least my father, with cake and presents and a warm, cosy feeling. Mother had been present at only my fourth birthday out of the ones I remembered - all the others had been spoiled by her missions. Father and I had been all alone, in a deeper sense of the word than one could imagine, during my fifth birthday. It had been, by far, the hardest one for me to swallow, but like I said before, a child's mind can be easily distracted, and my father knew me well enough to keep certain thoughts out of my head.

I didn't really feel I repaid his kindness on my sixth birthday. It was before I had wholly accepted Miyu's presence in our house, and even though she wasn't there then, thank God, I couldn't just forget her or her relationship with father.

It was probably the worst birthday for him.

My seventh birthday was something I think my birthdays should be. It was bright - despite the fact it was pouring outside -, filled with warmth, laughter, presents, and most of all, renewed unity between me and father. Miyu was there, too, smiling timidly - she had moved in permanently not too long after my sixth birthday. I remember getting a beautifully decorated comb from her.

I still have that comb.

Sunshine doesn't last forever, but thankfully I didn't think that way that day. However, it became an obvious truth to me the day after, when father handed me a present from my cousin that had 'arrived too late for my birthday'. I accepted his story without a second thought that day, but nowadays I know such fortunate coincidences are too rare to happen in the real world.

The present was from my more distant relatives. To be accurate, it was from a cousin from my mother's side. Most of my mother's relatives were ninjas. See a dangerous connection here?

To make matters worse, it was from the same cousin that had presented me with the idea of becoming a ninja. At that point, I had completely forgotten the offer, but he obviously hadn't. His present was a letter he had written, including a short essay of the basics of the life of a ninja - including all the negative sides, too - written in a form a seven-year-old could understand it. Along with the letter were two knives, and a fair warning of their sharp edges was written on a separate note.

It had been long since I'd last seen a kunai.

And my first thought was my mother.

In that light, my response was probably pretty understandable. I stuffed the letter back inside, shut the lid, and put the present in my closet, burying it with clothes, intending never to see it again, or to give it a second thought. In a sudden burst of nostalgia, I thought about a scenario where I'd find it years later and could, finally, laugh at it and the thought it represented.

Why didn't I simply throw it away, you ask? I had been taught to respect the presents, no matter how bad it might be. It's the thought that counts, right?

It was probably also the thought that was going to be my downfall.

Now that I look back to it, I have to marvel at how tricky my cousin was. His timing was spot on; My birthday was in March, and my pre-school was about to end at the end of May, after which I'd need to decide - or rather, my father would have to decide, but I could have my piece to say in that - how my education was to continue. I could be sent to lower level of comprehensive school, which would in the long run (really really long run) prepare me for well-educated jobs, such as scholars, doctors, and so on. My father said I was sharp, and I tended to work hard, so I probably stood a chance in that kind of school. Miyu said she could tell I was going to have nimble fingers (she was a tailor herself), and would fare well in some similar form of craftsmanship as she - she even offered to start my tutoring for it herself, "with my limited knowledge" as she put it, blushing modestly.

And then there was, of course, the possibility for me to begin my studies at the Ninja Academy. We didn't speak one word of it, but the present from my cousin left me aware of it, and my father most likely knew the nature of the 'late present'. He never held anything in secret from Miyu, so she must've known, too. Whatever they thought about it, they didn't say (I later on learned from my aunt that father and cousin had had a loud argument considering the gift well before my birthday. But that's jumping years ahead.). I did my best to repel the thought from my mind as well.

Still, I would be lying if I said that option didn't cross my mind.

Spring came and passed quickly, and I soon found myself standing in the yard of my kinder-garden, wearing a neat, brown skirt with a dark-red shirt, a garland made of numerous colourful flowers resting on top of my head. I watched as my friends were walking away with their parents or, in more unfortunate cases, parent. Some laughed happily, some, like me, were sad over the fact that our time in the kinder-garden was over. I grasped my father's hand and did my best to smile genuinely at both him and Miyu as we set off to our home.

I still hadn't made my decision at that point. In all honesty, I had tried to avoid the whole subject.

Unlike so many children, I never was so rapidly fond of summer. It was often too hot and humid for my liking, and playing outside just made it feel hotter. This summer was particularly hot and oppressive right from the start, and asides from a few rainy days, it only got worse in the end.

I suppose that was only fitting, considering that I had to make a heavy choice during it. Speaking of which, I knew I could easily cut down my options from three to two, and no one would be blaming me for it.

Still, despite what I thought about my cousin, his present, and ninjas in general, I often found myself gazing at the direction of the closet where that damn box still laid.

When it came to the end of July, I wasn't certain which weighted my mood down more: The oppressively hot weather, or the decision I would have to make. My time was running short, and I still wasn't sure what the right choice was. It's funny how I thought that there was going to be just one right choice that would lead me to happiness, and two wrong, which wouldn't in the end turn out so happy. But, life is easier when it's black and white, and I still think you shouldn't put so many expectations on the shoulders of a seven-year-old child.

Anyway, I knew I had to resort to drastic measures to limit down my number of choices.

I walked into my room, and opened the closet, reaching for the present I hadn't opened since my birthday, and headed outside. I would at least read through what my cousin had to say.

---

The summer must've been at its worst by then, and even walking outside was enough to make me sweat. That was one of reasons why I stood still in the park, under an old, large willow that shadowed most part of the bench I was sitting on. My cousin's present was next to me, closed, and the letter he had written was on my lap, still in the grasp of my hands. I had read the letter, completely this time, and then read it again, just to make sure I understood everything. Well, it's not like I understood all of it, but the parts I did caused several different emotions.

Dear cousin Tenten, it began.

First of all, happy seventh birthday! I hope you've enjoyed your day so far. You know, seven years is a pretty important age for us who live in hidden villages. It means you will leave the kinder-garden and be given options on what you want to be when you grow up, and this is for real! It is more than a chance to choose where you can go next, it's an important decision that will shape your life!

At this point, my cousin went on about how marvellous opportunity it was and how proud he was for his cousin to finally reach it. He really should've become a poet instead of a ninja. I didn't get the most of it, but I was happy knowing that cousin was glad for me.

Your father is a smith. Your step-mother, At this point I felt my throat tighten, but continued reading. I knew cousin didn't know enough of what was going on in my family, and I didn't want to tell him, either. As far as I know, is a tailor. That means they will both explain you what it is to become a craftsman in a hidden village. If you remember our little conversation (I don't blame you if you don't, you were a young girl back then), I gave you another option as well. To become something that gives our village its unique feature, a ninja of Konoha. My throat closed up even more, and I felt my hands trembling at the familiar word. I don't know how I was able to bite it down and continue. I knew that from this point on, the word was going to show up a lot.

Ninjas are the guardians of this village, and guardians of our homeland. The Land of Fire doesn't train ninjas in any other villages, which means you, I, and everyone who lives here is in a very special and lucky position.

That part left me more confused than anything else back then, someone telling me that I was special. Nowadays, of course, I know that isn't true. Being born in Konoha doesn't automatically mean you are something special or extra-ordinary. Take me, for an example.

That's because everyone who lives here has, or has had, an opportunity to be a ninja.

Again, bull. My cousin failed to see that someone who's crippled since birth obviously can't be a ninja, nor will be given an opportunity to be so. Even my seven-year-old self noticed that something was off, but I continued reading nonetheless.

But, becoming a ninja is a long, rough road, and only the toughest and those who work the hardest come to see the end of it.

He did know how to catch a child's interest, though. I knew I was hard-working, father had told me so! Probably every parent tells their offspring so…

Right, right, the letter.

But hard work has its rewards, Tenten! When you're strong and old, like me, - My cousin was fifteen at that time, barely passed his chuunin exam - you will come to understand what's it really like to be a ninja: It's to know that you're able to protect your village, your home, and your family, with your own strength. It's to know nothing bad can happen to them as long as you breathe.

I was crying silently at this point, my tears running down my cheeks as I bit my lower lip. Granted, my cousin had several ideas off, and he obviously wasn't able to see the whole gruesome picture of just in how many ways ninjas could be used in a way that had nothingto do with protecting their loved ones, but I forgive him that. He was young, and a bit idealistic, and didn't mean any harm to his little cousin, not even when he proceeded to describe some stories of the 'glorious' life and death of a ninja, how sweet and free and yet how tiring and hard their life was - in an exaggerating, over-dramatic way that was common for him.

Besides, being the little girl I was, I was a sucker for long, over-dramatic stories.

In the end, when I finally folded the letter, put it back in the box, and carefully pulled out one kunai for me to look at, I realized that I wasn't really interested in what cousin thought of being a ninja. Now that I was a bit more skilled with handling unwanted memories, my interest laid solemnly in finding out what my mother had thought about being a ninja, and why she had ever become one. Were her reasons the same cousin spoke of, or did being a ninja hide something else in it, too?

I really wished someone could tell me more. I had only ended up more confused.

---

The next day, I did something I never thought I'd do. When all the three of us were seated at the kitchen table for breakfast, I asked my father where the memorial stone where mother's name was engraved was. My cousin's letter had mentioned the stone, and that every ninja who died on a mission had their name there, leaving the rest for me to figure - I picked up fairly quickly that mother's name must've been there as well. Anyway, father didn't react visibly, save for the brief shadow of sorrow and sadness that crossed over his eyes briefly when I mentioned mother. He always was a bit slow to answer, so I waited patiently, never taking my determined eyes off him. I wanted him to know that this wasn't just a childish whim. But, to both of our surprise, Miyu spoke up, offering to take me there.

Upon seeing her careful smile, I knew she knew I was serious about this. Come to think of it, there probably wouldn't have been other reason why she had volunteered.

---

It was just as hot as yesterday, but I could feel that the wind was stronger today, bringing refreshing gusts of cool air from the north and giving us a foretaste of the approaching autumn. Miyu led me through the streets of Konoha, east from the craftsman's terrace, through the general trade and store district, and eventually heading south towards the residential area of the village. Despite the seriousness of our trip, I couldn't hide my curiosity, and my eyes travelled here and there as I tried to catch a glimpse of everything I deemed interesting. Miyu noted that I look like a startled owl with eyes wide as saucers and the quick turns of my head. I pouted at her, but not in a serious way, and told her to blame my father for not taking me to a stroll more often. She giggled - she was probably theonly adult who could giggle in a dignified manner -, but said no more, and I was silent too. We both knew that my father had his hands full of work as it was as he tried to support our family.

I don't really recall when I started acknowledging Miyu as part of our family, really, but it didn't feel downright wrong and it did make things easier.

As we stepped out of the actual town area, still heading south, my anxiousness grew, but this time it was more in a nervous fashion. I walked slightly closer to Miyu now, but we still didn't have any kind of physical contact - as usual. My cousin had mentioned the training grounds, saying something about 'making boys into men', which I didn't fully understand due to my young age, but the way he wrote of it left me nervous.

I couldn't make out what Miyu was thinking as we walked in silence past the numerous training areas, and eventually turned away from the road and right in the middle of one of them. It was empty, fortunately, and we walked across the large field, and past three huge logs that stood in the middle of the area. Following the edge of woods, we finally came upon a small glade. In the middle of it was situated a small, gleaming, oddly-shaped slab of dark granite. I knew then that that was the memorial stone we had come to see.

But we weren't the only ones who had got that idea: In front of the stone, with his hands crossed behind his back, stood a man in white and red robes, the wind flapping the cloth that fell from under his triangular-shaped hat and covered the back of his head and neck.

Up to that point in my life, I had never actually seen the Hokage, but I somehow knew that this man was something strong and wise and just powerful.

He was something special.

Miyu, of course, recognized the man immediately, freezing in her tracks. She had always been shy and timid, but the look on her face spoke to me of something far deeper than just shyness or uncertainty. I somehow think, if we had managed to see the man before, she would've turned us around and suggested we come back at a better time. I think I would've been happy to follow that advice.

But, alas, we had walked too close. He had no doubt already noticed our presence. I shifted a little closer to Miyu. The man's aura, and her way of acting had woken up my own fears - which wasn't particularly hard, mind you - and for a split second, I really wished I could've hidden behind her legs and let her handle the situation.

"We're sorry for interrupting you, Hokage-sama." Miyu said, bowing deeply. "We didn't know you were here. We will take our leave immediately." I felt even more intimidated, and fought the urge to run away. It was then I realized just why this man was the Hokage.

He chuckled whole-heartedly, and I felt as if my heart made a jump every time his quiet laughter reached its peak. At first, I thought it was because I was terrified, but when he turned around, I could feel my fear leaving me. He was smiling with closed eyes, and I somehow felt his smile was enough of a reason for everyone to smile. I sure was tempted to. Also, with the many wrinkles around his eyes, mouth, and on his forehead, he looked a lot more like someone's grandfather rather than a leader of a hidden ninja village (it took me a while to realize he could be both at the same time). At this point, I felt already much more at ease, and suddenly I was terribly afraid of the same thing as Miyu: That we had interrupted this jolly old man's private time. That worry, too, was soon thrown into the wind.

"Not at all, not at all." Even his sound was all grandfather-like. "I've already taken my time here, and it is always nice to see people who are willing to remember the sacrifices of the past generations." Again, he chuckled, and my heart seemed to follow its rhythm. "It gives old geezers like me a reason to believe they'll be remembered after all." Oh, he even cracks jokes? His eyes became inspecting and I saw or more like felt how his gaze travelled on me and Miyu. Narrowing his eyes ever-so-slightly, he muttered in a thoughtful voice: "But I rarely see people who aren't ninja come here."

I ignored Miyu's stuttering as she tried to get something intelligent out of her mouth, trying to cram up thanks, a polite disagreement about Hokage's joke, and maybe even an explanation as to why we were here in the same sentence. Instead, I walked past her and toward the stone, but not before giving the old man a wordless bow as gracefully as I could. Miyu had fallen silent, and I could feel that I was the centre of attention for both of the adults now, but I didn't care. I was here to find my mother's name, to see a concrete piece of information of the side of her life I didn't know anything of. But what was I going to after I had found it?

I hadn't really thought that far yet.

I wasn't illiterate, but I didn't have particularly exceptional reading skill, either. Logically, I started to read from the top and made my way downwards, trying to recognize my mother's name from amongst the sea of kanjis that looked just slightly clearer than jumbled to me. It was then I realized to my horror that I probably couldn't recognize mother's name even if I came across it - I didn't know what her family name was! She had never picked up father's family name, something that irked the more conservative members of both families, but since something like that was becoming more and more common nowadays, it was something they could eventually swallow - barely.

As fate would have it, the Third stepped on my side at this point, and I couldn't help my gaze rising upwards to see his face. He was smiling.

"Are you here to visit your father?" I suppose it was a logical conclusion, seeing how I was in the company of Miyu, but he was wrong nonetheless. I shook my head.

"I'm here to see Mama." The Third raised an eyebrow at this, glancing curiously at my step-mother's direction, but didn't say anything about it. Instead, he turned his attention to me again.

"Maybe I can help you. The names are small, so that there will be as much room as possible, and it's difficult to find the name you seek if this is your first time visiting the stone. This is your first time, isn't it?" I nodded, and he smiled again. "So, tell me your mother's name, and I'll point it to you, okay?" Of course it was okay. I really wanted to see mother's name with my own eyes. But, I still didn't know her full name. I was suddenly embarrassed, and I suppose the blush that rose on my cheeks gave that away.

"Umm… Chihiro…" Work, brain, work! Certainly I had heard it somewhere!

"Nigihayami Chihiro." It was Miyu, and she was now standing next to me. How had she moved there so fast and without me noticing it? I didn't have time to wonder about it when the old man next to me spoke up.

"Nigihayami Chihiro, here." He said, pointing his finger at somewhere around the twentieth name. I placed my own small hand next to the name, and traced my fingers above the carved kanji. Yes, it was mother. She was here. She had died a ninja, when completing a mission. Tears formed in the corners of my eyes, but I didn't wipe them away. The Hokage continued in the same warm voice as before. "Do you know what these ninjas, who have been craved here, are called?" I shook my head, my eyes still on the familiar name. "They're called heroes." While the word might've woken up some other child's interest, to me it did no good. It didn't matter if mother was a hero or not, if she was gone. The memorial stone was just another reminder of it, and I suddenly didn't know why I had wanted to come here in the first place. A silence stretched between the three of us, during which the Hokage lit his pipe.

"I remember your mother." I blinked rapidly, trying to get the tears out of my eyes as I looked at the tall man. "I remember her because she didn't want to be a ninja." Perhaps becoming old gave you the privilege to be cryptic, but I was too impatient to honour that.

"What do you mean, Hokage-sama? Why didn't mama want to be a ninja?" 'Why did she become one anyway?' I didn't voice the last question, mostly because I could feel a lump in my throat. Mother didn't want to be a ninja. She still became a ninja. She was killed a ninja. It was so unfair that I could cry!

"I don't know the details," the Third muttered, taking the pipe out of his mouth and blowing smoke out of his nose. "But sometimes we all have to make decisions that we don't like. As a Hokage, you have to make a lot of them." A soft smile touched his lips. "Perhaps your mother was encouraged by her family. Perhaps she had talents that were useful for a shinobi. Perhaps all her friends were going to become ninjas too." The old man sucked at his pipe again, blowing the smoke out of his mouth this time. "Or perhaps she wanted to protect her family, her friends, or Konoha. Perhaps she saw that by doing something she didn't want to do she ended up doing something she really wanted to do." He smiled cryptically, and I just stared him. Then I blushed.

"I don't get it," I admitted sheepishly, but he just chuckled.

"Don't worry; sometimes even we adults don't get it. But would it be enough, for now, to think that your mother knew what she was doing? That she, in the end, really was happy for her choice?" I felt like crying again, but managed to keep it inside me and just nodded. "That's what you're here for, isn't it? To decide if your mother really was glad over her choice to die for the village - and for you." I guess they didn't automatically promote the strongest ninja of the village to the Hokage. As a Hokage, you were the caretaker, the protector of the entire village and everyone in it. You had to know better than anyone what they hoped and what they wanted, and choose the best words based on that information.

I think he could do it better than anyone else.

"You're here to decide if you want to follow in her footsteps." My gaze fell from his face back to the name carved on the stone. That was right. I looked at Miyu with a guilty look in my eyes, expecting some kind of a reaction. I should've known better than that. Her grey eyes were sad and distant, and the look on her face was the same as her eyes. As she realized I was looking at her, her expression changed to a shy, sad smile. I knew she had never intended to say anything of the subject, but her look was more than enough to tell me that she didn't like the idea of me being a kunoichi. I knew, for I was the same. Looking back at the Third again, I nodded. He raised an eyebrow. "But…?"

"I don't wanna end up like Mama did." My shaky answer was barely nothing more than a whisper. The Hokage couldn't understand it, but I meant so much more with that than just death. I didn't want to leave behind me a same kind of situation. I didn't want people to go through the same thing I had. I wanted to believe in that mother had really been happy with her decision. I wanted to be like her and do the same she had done, but if it meant I was going to leave so much sadness in my wake, how could I possibly do it?

"I don't think she would want that, either, Tenten." The voice came from my other side. Miyu. "And I don't think she wanted to end up like that herself." I wouldn't cry any more. I wouldn't let my tears fall any longer. Father told me to be strong and not to cry. Miyu's smile was sad, but reassuring. How many times had she had to reassure herself after her husband's death? "She knew that it could happen, but she made the decision anyway. It wasn't probably the right decision…" Her shyness kicked in, and she turned her gaze away before managing to get a grip of herself again. "But it was the decision that made her happy." I wouldn't cry.

"Truly, it must be so," The Hokage suddenly sounded a lot older, but it passed before he spoke again. "And that's probably the way you should choose too. Choose in a way that you think will make you happy." I nodded. I couldn't see him properly through my teary eyes. "I bet that's how your mother would have wanted it."

Strong girls don't cry. But I cried just a little anyway. I hope it didn't count.

---

I never wanted to be a ninja. My mother didn't want to be one, either. But, in the end, both of us ended up enlisted to the Ninja Academy anyway.

Even if I didn't want it, it was still my own decision.

Our own decision.

I coughed up some blood again.

"God, Mama, how I miss you."