The room was tiny, but unexpectedly clean. Plain walls, a wooden floor, a narrow window with a curtain the color of withered grass. A bed by the wall, a low table with a couple of chairs, a small closet. Everything you need for someone who came with nothing.
I closed the door behind me and slowly ran my fingers along the wall. Cold, rough. Uncomfortable. Like everything here. Not because it was bad - because it was alien.
An old mirror in a wooden frame stood under the window. Dust covered its edges, but the middle remained clean - as if someone had recently looked into it. I came closer.
A boy looked at me from the reflection. Five years old. His face was gloomy, his skin was pale, his chin was sharp, as if carved from bone. His eyes were dark, heavy, attentive. His hair was thick, long for a boy, with a distinct reddish tint, especially at the roots. Almost black in the shadows, but something vaguely akin to flames shone through in the light. Uzumaki…
I grimaced. I knew where that color came from. My mother's genes.
"It's no use," I muttered. "I'm different anyway."
I turned around, ignoring the reflection, and went to the closet. There were new clothes there. Nothing special, just the usual Academy uniform. A dark blue shirt, pants, gloves. I tried them on. They fit fine.
My hands weren't shaking. I felt… emptiness. Not pain. Not fear. Not gratitude. Just a cold silence inside.
I left the room and went down the stairs. The dorm turned out to be three stories high. Children were running around the halls, laughing, playing. One of them nudged me with his shoulder, muttering an apology. I didn't say anything. I just kept walking, looking out at the street.
Konoha. For the first time, I could see her not from the side. Not from the basement. Not through the cracks. But for real.
I walked along the streets, slowly. Memorizing. Watching. And learning.
Here is a vegetable stand. Here is a blacksmith. Here is a shinobi in uniform. Here are children my age. Carefree. Noisy. Stupid. They do not feel threatened. They do not understand how easily everything can end.
I felt the gazes on me. People looked warily, some with pity. Some knew. Or guessed. It does not matter.
"They are all temporary," I whispered to myself. "And I will stay."
As I slowly walked down the street, a plan formed in my head. Tomorrow I go to the Academy. I did not intend to be one of them. I will be better. Quieter. More cunning. I will become a shadow that no one will remember until it is too late.
The sun was setting. I returned to the room. I sat on the bed and looked at the mirror again.
A reddish tint.
A flame. But hidden under the ashes.