The thought of Summers past

The water gardens were a lovely place during the summertime. The brisk wind flowed through his hair, the sun pushed against his skin and left its warmth lingering on him. He was wearing black pants and a slightly loose red T-shirt. His sword is attached to his right hip, ready for use if need be within the training grounds. The best way that he found training was by using clones, as clones could offer him tips on how to counter his fighting style and learn accordingly. Each slash, each swing, each punch, and each kick were beginning to become ingrained into his mind. He was learning at an accelerated rate, faster than when he wasn’t using clones. But it was enough to where he could maybe scratch by. He was prepping for the Nova exams. He had no want or use to join that organization. It was too little freedom in his mind, he wouldn’t be able to go out on missions, nor could he eventually figure out just who killed Hotaru. The position he was shooting for was that of a Jonin, however he’d have to prove himself, and himself alone in this fight. Rumors spread fast, but a Genin like himself, when his teammates had all ascended past him in rank. It was a. . . unnerving display. His hand grasped the handle of his blade immediately. Immediately sending a barking force of energy towards one of the nearby trees the bark cracking under the pressure, breaking down as the bark was stripped from its skin. Yet the tree remained, ever the stubborn force.

He could barely knock down a tree with his strength, for what good could it bring for him to hunt down those that had hurt himself? He wouldn't. . . He couldn’t talk with his former teammates. That avenue had long since been sailed. He was willing and ready to gain power through any means necessary. He had to talk with someone, anyone that had the Sharingan. Perhaps then he could finally attain those eyes. His vision had since corrected itself since that meeting. His use of the Mangekyo had been dimmed thanks to Hikari’s own words about never using those eyes. It hurt to admit that she was probably right. That using these eyes would be a curse. But it was a curse he was willing, and wishing to use. Only so that way he could finally be able to become what he always wanted to be. He wished to be a great shinobi, one that eventually could be considered on the same level as his sensei, as those on the Nova Corps.

Yet he couldn’t help but feel pissed off when thinking about them, and how much further he had to climb.

WC:456
TWC:456

Discarding WC and Exiting