Shinobi Isekai: Round Two

Ding Dong

"Tobirama," his father's voice was stern and cold, completely devoid of the warmth he'd shown his brothers. "How goes the seal? I recall I was promised a demonstration soon."

Tobirama did not wilt under the force of his father's stare, instead meeting it head on. Butsuma's face was a tanned blur, with only vague shapes hinting at what he knew to be sharp features, but he knew he was frowning. His chakra was laden with disappointment.

"Apologies, father," he said with a bow. "It will not be ready for another week."

Butsuma clicked his tongue, the sound cutting at Tobirama's pride. "Again? What is that foul bird teaching you?"

Tobirama looked up sharply, the words to defend his sensei rising in his throat, but Hashirama stepped between him and their father, chakra flaring with indignation.

"It's not his fault, father!" Hashirama spoke with a freedom Tobirama had never been allowed, his words devoid of the formality that had long become his younger brother's defining trait. "I messed it up! Look!"

Hashirama held out his hands, showing Butsuma something Tobirama's eyes couldn't see. Whatever was there, it had the older man huffing in begrudging acceptance.

"Fine. It had better be worth the wait."

"Of course, father," Tobirama promised, more than confident that his work would be satisfactory. "I apologize for the inconvenience."

His father waved a hand in dismissal, turning his attention back to Itama. Tobirama wasted no time in leaving the training ground, fully intending to return to his seal. If he hurried, he could probably have something to show Butsuma in a couple of days. Maybe one of the simpler seals would be better? He shook his head to dispel the notion. No. He had spent too long on this one to abandon it halfway.

"I'm sorry, Tobi," Hashirama said, so softly he almost missed it. "I can help you fix it! I-if you want, that is."

No, he most certainly did not want. Still, it was kind of him to offer. If Hashirama was anything, it was kind.

"No, thank you, Anija. I will do it myself."

"Tobi." He turned around, giving Hashirama the benefit of looking at him while he spoke. His chakra was rife with concern, and Tobirama knew immediately what he was going so say. "You'll come home, tonight, right? Mother will want to celebrate Itama's awakening of the mokuton."

Of course, she would. For a single, fleeting moment, Tobirama was tempted to say no. Then, he sighed. "Of course, Anija. Itama would be sad if I didn't."

The brilliant light of his brother's happiness all but chased him off, a shining beacon in the back of his mind as he returned to the shack which held his calligraphy supplies. The ruined seal was still where he left it, an ink spill so large even he could see it marring the velum. The idea of redoing every stroke set his wrists to aching. Perhaps, he mused, it could be salvaged.

With that thought, he gathered up his brushes and ink, carefully stowing them in their designated travel pouch, before picking up the scroll. The ink was still wet, so he couldn't roll it the way he normally would, but he picked it up as best he could. This time, as he walked through the village, precariously balancing a scroll which threatened to unroll at the first opportunity, people did notice. They whispered among themselves, chakra pulsing with pity and suspicion. That was always the case when he did something 'unusual'. The words 'cursed' and 'that child' went in one ear and out the other, so familiar now that they may as well not exist. The stigma of his coloration was only off set by his station as Butsuma's child, and, even then, it wasn't always enough to keep the worst of their baseless speculation at bay.