A certain boy with thick, bushy eyebrows sat on a swing set. He was alone. He did not have a single friend. None of the other children wanted to have anything to do with him. A kid without chakra was pretty much useless in the world of shinobi, after all. No one so much as acknowledged him and his strange eyebrows did nothing to convince others to so much as look at him.
To many, he was hideous. Too ugly to even take pity on.
Without talent or beauty, with none of the gifts bestowed upon humans by Kami, this child was considered to be of less worth than even the very dirt people stepped on. No one so much as pitied him, for he was simply too lowly an existence for anyone to concern themselves with him. He had been abandoned by society as soon as he was born, his parents — both proud shinobi of Konohagakure no Sato — not caring enough about this child to even bother to raise him. They tossed him in an orphanage as soon as it was confirmed by the doctors at the hospital that he would never be able to use his chakra.
After all, a child born with atrophied chakra pathways was useless in the shinobi world no matter how intelligent or physically strong.
Even the academy instructors deemed him a lost cause, the ninjutsu teachers making him sit at the side while the taijutsu instructors barely paid attention to his progress. They spent every lesson lecturing him or simply advising him to give up. They did not see his impressive progress in taijutsu, nor did they see how his body instinctively channelled chakra to his muscles after continuous practice not unlike how shinobi augmented their physical strength using chakra. Although he could not control the chakra in his body, the body which naturally relies on chakra to function does for him what he cannot do himself.
They did not see his true talent. They never did notice his hidden latent potential. All they saw was a little kid chasing the hopeless dream of being a ninja when he had no disposition for it. They cut him down with their harsh, hurtful words, unaware that all they did was cause the poor boy unnecessary pain.
At the end of the day, this child was far too stubborn to quit just because of the words others say to him.
All they did was make him even more determined to succeed once he got past his initial depression.
The other children looked down on him, deeming him unworthy of their time of the day. The academically poorer students made fun of him, picking on him to make themselves feel better. They thought themselves superior since they thought that he would never be able to pass the graduation exam without the ability to use ninjutsu.
Without ninjutsu scores, he always failed his exams terribly and was hence labelled the dead last of the class since he always scored the lowest.
It was indeed unfair, but that was just the way the world works. Nothing is ever fair. Some are born with special talents while others are born without them.
Most people like him just chose not to enrol in the shinobi academy, opting for the civilian academy since they thought it more realistic.
He was not special. He was just like any other civilian, unable to use chakra. He would never be able to do flashy jutsu.
Fully aware that his only hope -- the only area his ilk could ever hope to expertise in -- was taijutsu, he trained furiously. He noticed how his punches, sloppy and off-centre as they were, would speed up and slam into the tree trunk with more force than he thought himself capable of. That made him realise that he had hope. If he were to train his body and continue building up muscle mass and increasing his physical strength, he might be able to exceed normal shinobi.
This child, whose hope altered the very threads of the fate of the destiny that a divine being had dealt him, was Lee.
He had not been given a surname by his parents when they abandoned him at the orphanage.
That was why he gave himself a name he thought would suit him when he first entered the academy.
Rock.
He would be strong and steadfast. He would be determined and unwavering. He would not let anything cause him to lose sight of his goal.
Most importantly, Lee would always, always chase after his dreams. It may be just a stubborn, futile spark that should have been extinguished a long time ago; it may have been for his own good that he just gave up, but he would never let it go. He would sooner die as a shinobi on his very first mission than continue living a civilian life wondering about what could have been if only he persevered and had not given up.
At some point, this goal changed.
From simply becoming a shinobi, his new desire made his previous dream a mere checkpoint on his path to success. He did not just want to be a no-name shinobi. He wanted to be a good one. He wanted to be known as the person who was able to achieve success despite his disability.
It was soon after this change in mindset that a life-changing event would occur.
It was by this turn of fate that Lee's dream to be the best shinobi was no longer unfeasible and instead became a perfectly realistic goal.
~
There were harsh smacks of skin on wood, accompanied by the sounds of the heavy breaths of a boy who was panting from exertion, practically dead on his feet.
So engrossed was he in his task that he never noticed the redhead sitting on the low-hanging branch of the tree next to the one he was using to train. He did not realise that he was being observed by another, a boy who could not be any older than himself. The redhead was not even bothering to hide the fact that he was watching the dead last of the class that was due to graduate in exactly twenty months.
Lee was only jolted out of this state of deep concentration when the other boy stepped off the branch he had been resting on even before Lee had started training after the end of a day of classes.
"Your stance is off," the unknown boy spoke.
The dark-haired boy was startled so badly by the other child's sudden appearance that he fell onto his butt.
Lee gaped like a fish out of the water as he took in the form of the boy who stood before him.
His straight hair was red, the back cropped short with his bangs neatly framing his face. It was not a bright scarlet, but rather a crimson not unlike the colour of fresh blood. His eyes were ocean blue, framed by long, thick eyelashes which were curled just so. The ivory skin was unmarred, his perfect face only with the slightest traces of baby fat and boasting aristocratic features one would not be surprised to see on royalty. He donned a navy cloak that seemed to bring out the colouring of his eyes and hair, though the cloak had been thrown back.
The redhead just smiled amicably at the black-haired boy and reached out a hand to help him up.
Still dazed, Lee accepted the hand and allowed himself to be pulled back onto his feet.
"Who... are you?" Lee barely had the sense to ask as he realised that he had never before seen this boy although he was of the age that he would be attending the academy.
The stranger's lips twitched upwards a little more before he swept into a dramatic bow, his cloak billowing out around him as he did so.
"I am Uzumaki Menma."
Lee took a step back in surprise at the abrupt and incredibly dramatic self-introduction.
"But, since I am going to to be helping you, dear friend, you can just call me Menma," he added, flashing his pearly white teeth in a grin.
"H-Helping m-m-me?" the long-haired boy stuttered out in shock as he stared at Menma uncomprehendingly.
No one had ever offered to help him. The closest to that had been when one of the caretakers at the orphanage had taken him to the hospital to check whether his condition was reversible. This was not even taking into account that this was the first time he was speaking to someone of the same age, thereabout, as himself on friendly terms.
"I can't mould chakra!" Lee exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air to emphasise his point.
Menma rolled his eyes, an action that Lee could not help but notice looked completely out of place on the other boy -- whom he concluded had to be of noble status (or, at the very least, heritage).
"You still have chakra reserves, right? Everyone in this world needs chakra to survive, after all. The only part that is different about you is that even if you do have the required chakra, you cannot use it. You cannot channel chakra out of any of your tenketsu. However, it is still perfectly plausible to use the chakra internally," the redheaded boy explained slowly, sounding almost bored as he spoke.
Lee could only stare at the other boy slack-jawed.
This was the very first time he had ever heard of such a thing. All anyone else had told him was that he would never be able to do ninjutsu just because his chakra pathways would not allow it. Even medical experts had said that he would never be able to mould chakra. Yet here this boy was saying that he was pretty much the same as anyone else and can use chakra as long as it does not need to leave his body!
It was perfectly logical, which made it extremely terrifying. How intelligent was this boy that such unorthodox methods of using chakra could come to him as naturally as breathing? He had always assumed that Hyūga Neji was as brilliant as geniuses went, being capable of main family Hyūga clan techniques despite never being taught and being from the branch family. However, this boy proved without even demonstrating any flashy techniques that although Neji was indeed a prodigy and a genius for being able to work out how those techniques worked, there was a whole new level above that.
Menma was on a whole different class of genius. That was certain. In the short time that Lee had known Menma, he had already figured out that the other boy was far from normal.
'I wonder how strong Menma-'
"Besides, as I was saying, your stance is off," the redhead stated, interrupting Lee's train of thought.
Lee blinked as he snapped back into focus.
"Eh?" he said intelligently.
"Get into your first stance. Even your academy taijutsu kata are a mess," Menma sighed. "I'll only show you other taijutsu styles that suit you better when you finish mastering the basics."
Lee got into position.
"Like this?" he asked.
Menma's hand found its way to his forehead as a resigned sigh passed his lips.
This was going to take a while.
~
Menma stood to the side, watching mutely as a black-haired boy went through the kata for the academy standard taijutsu.
It had been three days since Lee first met Menma and his taijutsu skill had improved by leaps and bounds. Lee still never managed to hold his own against Menma, but the redhead did not seem all that concerned about that. The younger boy also said that Lee's improvement was admirable, which the said boy was still quite disbelieving about.
He had never been praised before in his entire life.
Menma owned a long list of his firsts. He was the first person to speak to him without condescension, the first person to befriend him, the first person to offer help to him, the first to ever believe in him, the first to tell him that he can use chakra and the first to ever give him praise. Lee had a feeling that this list would only continue increasing as he spent more and more time with the redhead.
He was still rather astonished by the fact that Menma had declared himself to be his friend on their first meeting.
It was clear that Menma was someone important, so why would he waste his time on someone like Lee?
He had asked, of course, but all he got in response was: "I'm not wasting my time, Lee. Unlike what you seem to think, I quite feel that the time I spend helping you is time well spent."
The answer was so vague that Lee found himself with more questions than he had started with.
The worst thing was that he knew that any question he asked would be answered with a similar lack of elaboration. Menma was not one to ignore his questions or even just state that he would find out later. He just replied to them in such a way that the question was addressed, but without any solid answer.
Menma's words often held double meanings, at the very least.
It was like literature prose, just worse.
"Good," Menma said once Lee was done. "Perfect, even. Now let's see how well you hold out against me, shall we?"
Lee gulped but readied his stance nonetheless.
Menma followed suit, and Lee could not help but feel incredibly grateful that Menma was kind of enough to handicap himself by using only the academy taijutsu style. Although he followed it loosely, the moves coordinated in strange patterns that could not possibly be tracked and predicted, it was still the academy style. Moreover, Menma was trying to teach him how to coordinate this unpredictability into his taijutsu.
So far, it had been going terribly.
Lee just did not have the same knack for throwing people off. He always revealed which moves he was going to use in subtle manners. Be it through tensing his muscles in preparation to jump, darting his eyes in the direction he was intending to attack at or following a pattern he had not even noticed himself using, it was always too simple to predict.
Menma had assured him that it was natural. He promised that Lee would grasp it over time with experience. Feinting well required the person to have good instincts, awareness and for them to have the experience to know what actions and movements will be most effective. At the end of the day, practice makes perfect and it was impossible to grasp such a complex fighting style focused on the greatest weakness of all shinobi.
An unpredictable enemy was the worst possible foe for any shinobi. All fighting styles required the user to be able to predict, at some level, the next moves of their opponent. If it was impossible to guess what the other will do next, the fight was already as good as lost.
That was why it was always best to capitalise on that, Menma lectured. Just because Lee cannot mould chakra, people would very easily overlook him. They would underestimate him, thinking that he was weaker just because he could not use ninjutsu. That would be their downfall, Menma had claimed.
Lee found that to make a lot of sense.
If they did not know what he was capable of, they would not pay any attention to him. Due to that, they would be unaware of his true capabilities. If he played on that, he could end the fight before it even starts simply because his opponent was too slow to react due to their presumption that he would be a pushover. Even if he was not underestimated, a fighting style that made it impossible to predict his next move would be the deciding factor for the battle. He would be able to deal a finishing blow when it was least expected, thereby winning the fight.
When Lee had asked for a suggestion, Menma had grinned viciously in a way that made Lee gulp subconsciously.
Menma had held out two kunai, purposefully and exaggeratedly securing them to each of his forearms and wrapping them up snugly using bandages. Then, he showed Lee the specially modified sleeves of his shirt and slipped one kunai into each. As soon as that was done, he waved his arms around.
But the next thing Lee knew, a kunai had been freed with a flick of Menma's wrist and he was at the mercy of the redheaded boy. He had not even seen him move. He had, somehow, forgotten about the sharp kunai that Menma had hidden, distracted by the strange motions of his arms.
It was just simple sleight of hand, but it was effective.
If Lee, who had seen Menma slip the kunai into his sleeves and already knew that he had hidden them there, could be fooled so easily, what of someone completely unaware of the hidden knives? They would have died there and then. If Menma had been aiming to kill, Lee's life would have been ended then.
From point-blank range, there was no time for the person to react and dodge the flying projectile before it can hit.
Lee had been left in a state of stupefaction for a whole minute before bouncing back and asking for Menma to continue.
That had been awesomely badass.
Lee knew that he just had to learn more of the redhead's ideas. If he could, somehow, gear his mind into thinking in a similar way, he will be almost unstoppable in combat. That he was completely sure of.
Menma did not immediately get him to work on his physical strength. According to Menma, that was easy and did not require his assistance or guidance apart from the creation of a suitable training regimen adapted to his needs. He wanted Lee to focus on getting his skills up to par first before doing anything else.
It was true that the movements would have to be readjusted if his physique changed, but the redhead seemed to think that that was an easy fix. Perfecting the technique itself was the most important part. Having a solid foundation in his taijutsu would help a lot in later stages.
Both boys stood in position, waiting for the battle to commence. Lee fidgeted slightly, barely repressing his urge to rush right into the fight. Menma, too, stood still, silently watching his protegee.
When he was sure that Lee was not going to charge right into the fight, Menma dashed forwards. His speed had been adjusted so that Lee would be able to keep up with him. This was to be a battle of pure skill, with no advantages in basic stats given to either boy. The fight was intended to be perfectly fair to allow Lee to test his skill. He was only going to learn how to deal with faster, stronger, larger or smaller opponents later on, after mastering a taijutsu style that suited him.
When Menma came close, Lee swiftly sidestepped -- it was almost sluggish since it was not yet instinctive at this point. The difference in experience showed clearly when he blocked the right hook sloppily, though the warning made him strengthen his guard before the follow-up, a classic straight. This time, he was able to block it, bending his knees slightly to diffuse the impact as he tried to kick at the other boy while Menma was still unbalanced from throwing his body weight forward.
Technically, it should have worked. However, Menma was not your normal run-of-the-mill academy student or even at the level of the average chūnin. He had known better than to let his balance be affected when he attacked and had been fully prepared for retaliation. This was something only years of training will be able to bring out.
Menma threw up a guard with his right arm and kicked out at Lee with his left leg as he drew his left arm back in, aiming for an obvious, big hole in the black-haired boy's defence. As the harsh kick landed on Lee's right side, bruising his ribs, Lee ruefully noted that he should have blocked better before. He had positioned his forearms too high, leaving his abdomen and lower ribs unguarded.
As Lee jumped back, his arms and ribs throbbing in protest as he panted from the intensity of the spar, he switched to a defensive stance as he waited for Menma to attack.
Yet he was caught off-guard when Menma suddenly attacked from the side, again aiming for a weak point in the boy's defence. This time, Lee managed to move just in time to block the punch. However, he was not nearly quick enough to jump over the leg sweep that followed it when Menma suddenly dropped to the ground.
He had not even seen it coming.
Lee tumbled to the ground and the next thing he knew, he was being pinned to the ground with his hands restrained behind his back, Menma resting a knee on the small of his back.
"Concede," Menma told the older male.
Lee struggled slightly, fully aware that it was futile, before sighing in defeat.
"I surrender," he mumbled sullenly.
He wanted to kick himself for thinking that he stood a chance just because of the handicaps that Menma had given himself. There had not even been any tricks involved. Menma had won through pure skill even while he had been holding back significantly.
Menma smiled.
"You know what you have to work on now, don't you?" he asked, the question sounding almost rhetorical.
Lee nodded, sighing and rubbing at the sore spots when Menma released him as he pulled himself into an upright position on the ground.
"My blocks are atrocious," he intoned, sounding bored.
Menma shook his head in exasperation. He had corrected that problem already during Lee's practising of his kata, but it had somehow been forgotten in the spur of the moment during their spar. Lee needed to work on making the motions instinctive.
"That's right. Your footwork is fine. Perfect, even. Your attacks, though, are a bit weak. It is not because of your lack of physical strength, but rather your poor technique. You did not demonstrate your punches, which had been fine as far as I am aware, but your kicks are rather lacking. The problem is in the way you execute them," Menma explained, helping the older boy up.
Lee nodded, leaning forward onto the balls of his feet as he listened attentively to the lecture the redhead was giving him.
"Right now, you kick like this," Menma stated as he demonstrated the movement.
He swung his leg up, his knee bent at an angle as the toe of his boot smacked against the trunk of the tree, his supporting leg bent into an awkward position.
"That was wrong," he said bluntly.
Then, Menma did another kick. This time, his leg was straightened, the knee locked, and his supporting leg was just slightly bent. Kicking out sideways, it was his heel that impacted the tree trunk this time.
"That was what you were supposed to do," Menma stated.
Lee nodded furiously, taking out his notebook and noting it down.
"Now tell me. From what you have just seen, what about your kicks was so wrong?" Menma asked.
Lee paused in his frantic scribbling to think back on the two kicks demonstrated.
"My legs were bent too far," he said slowly. "The leg I used to kick should have been straight so that it would be easier to aim and to balance should there be a need to continue the assault with more hits. The supporting leg should have been slightly bent to be able to diffuse impact, but not so much that stability and power have to be compromised."
Menma nodded, impressed.
"Anything else you managed to gather?" Menma queried.
Lee chewed on his lip thoughtfully, tapping his pencil on the notes he had scrawled down as his forehead wrinkled.
He pondered over the question.
"My posture? My shoulders were sagging," Lee asked, looking hopeful.
"Partly that, but no. That was not a major problem," Menma replied, looking mildly amused.
Lee felt his frown deepen before sighing in defeat.
"I don't know," he admitted, hanging his head.
"The angle, Lee. It was the entire way you had executed that kick. Instead of a proper side kick like the style requires, what you did was a front kick. That offers more resistance in the academy stance and may cause you to lose balance mid-kick. You had forgotten all about the basic kata in the spur of the moment," the redhead explained patiently.
Lee's mouth fell open, his lips forming an 'o'.
"That's all for today. Continue practising your kata and I will see you next week to test you again. Bye!" Menma said cheerfully, seemingly completely passive to his student's plight as he simply disappeared and left behind a gaping black-haired boy.
~
"You're ready, Lee," Menma spoke, sitting on the edge of the tree branch casually with his legs dangling down and crossed at his ankles.
Lee nodded, his expression determined.
Physically, Lee had not changed that much.
His hair and eyes were the same, as was his style of dress. Any changes in physique were concealed by the loose clothing he wore, as were the many hidden weapons on his person. He looked pretty much the same, even if his entire posture and gait had become smoother and more graceful.
However, as a person, Lee had changed a lot.
He was no longer low in self-confidence. He did not let anyone's words affect him anymore. He was confident in his own abilities and even more assured in the abilities of his mentor. His mind had been set a long time ago that Menma was the greatest genius within the village, if not the age and it had shown in the training he had undergone. They would never push him down again. He would never let their foolish words affect him. They knew nothing and did not even deserve the honour of speaking to Menma Uzumaki.
Still, he acted the way they expected him to.
He did not care about what they said about his eyebrows anymore, for it was superficial and did not really matter. Despite that, he acted as though he was offended and hurt by the insults on his eyebrows. It would not do for them to find out about him, after all.
After all, a shinobi's greatest asset is deception.
Perhaps sometimes he felt lonely, but he knew that Menma would always support him. Even if Lee had always known that Menma would one day leave him to his own devices. He knew that like a baby bird, he will have to one day leave the nest. Still, Menma would always believe in him.
If no one else, Menma will know that he is more than he may seem to anyone else.
After all, he had been trained by none other than Menma Uzumaki. He would not -- could not -- be any less than brilliant. Menma had taken the time to help him, so he would prove that he had not wasted the other's time. He would prove Menma right.
He would do Menma proud, even if it meant leaving the world in the dark until the right time came.
Even if it meant purposely isolating himself from his peers.
His self-imposed solidarity was necessary.
He needed to make his reputation.
No one could know, so no one can come close.
He would succeed and he would prosper.
Even if no one other than Menma and he knew, he held Menma's expectations on his shoulders.
And Menma expected him to be great.
"Just as a confirmation of identity, we'll have codenames," Menma spoke softly, the words carrying on the breeze like a whisper.
"Hai, Kitsune-sensei," Lee intoned.
Menma laughed, the light sound causing joy to rise in Lee's chest for bringing the one who had helped him, the one who had saved him, happiness.
"You know me too well, Kuroten."
Lee's eyes widened as for the first time, Menma disappeared in a whirl of colour.
Gold and crimson continued to swirl around the spot even after Menma had gone, finally disappearing from Lee's life.
Lee -- Kuroten, as Menma had named him -- shut his eyes as a lone tear trailed down a cheek. He knew he would miss his mentor. Menma would always be on his mind until the very day he got the chance to finally attain his dream and even after that. He would never forget this red prince, who had chosen to help him in his greatest time of need.
When his eyes opened once more, they widened as they zeroed in on a single golden feather flecked with crimson that slowly drifted down from the heavens. He subconsciously let his hands reach out, cupped before him to receive the gift as it floated down towards him. The dainty thing seemed to glow even as it fell, only an inch above his hands.
When it dropped into his palms, Kuroten felt an odd warmth sweep over him.
The feeling of home.
Another tear joined the one tracing its way down his cheek, followed by another and then yet another. He always felt like he belonged when he stood next to Menma. He felt like he had finally found his place in the world.
The magical feather was a gift from Menma, one that showed that he cared.
For some reason, that caused a painful pang in his chest.
Menma cared.
Unlike everyone else, he cared about the child that had been born unloved.
Author's Note:
The name Kuroten is Japanese for sable, a marten with a short tail and dark brown fur. Lee resembles it and no one can convince me otherwise.
Bonus picture above. Look at those round black eyes and the fluffy dark fur.