"It takes nothing to join a crowd. It takes everything to stand alone." - Hans F. Hansen

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"Fight back!" 

His voice seemed to echo against the empty halls. My father glared at me with those dark eyes of his, snarling in disgust. He stomped onto my back, causing my stomach to slam against the dojo floor. Air knocked from my windpipe, I gasped. 

Breathing heavy, sharp, I sat up — arm coiled around stomach, wincing at the pain. I looked up to him, frowning at what I saw. His eyes, his gaze, filled with such emotion.

Disappointment.

It was painfully obvious and it hurt more than any bruise. Light eyebrow knitting together, face scrunching up as the pure look of utter disappointment burrowed through me. He sighed, roughly tugging on his light hair, fringe obscuring his vision slightly. He looked away, body turning to face the entrance of the dojo.

Deep in the Main Household was where the dojo could be found — where we were. A simple, plain room. Wooden flooring and walls, mats placed on the sides for spectators to judge in comfort.

Speak of said spectators; many of my clansmen and servants had ceased their current duties to peer in. Through the double set doors — doors father had no doubt left open in the haste of running inside, desperate the grill some form of training into me. With narrow, piercing stares, they regard me with hostility.

But I ignored them, I always did. Father looked back, giving me that hard stare that I had learnt to expect, before he spoke.

"Practice the kata I taught you." His voice sharp, stern. "Don't stop until it's perfect. Do not disappoint me again, Ichirou."

That condescending tone, oh how I hated it.

"Yes, father." 

To him, I wasn't his son — a forced heir.

Just a nuisance.

Leaving no room for argument, the proud, arrogant man that was my father, marched out of the dojo. Back straight and face stern, as he always was. He passed my spectators, shooting them nothing but a single glance, but it sent them scrambling like the cowards they were.

God, I hated them. I hated them all.

They were all cowards, what was worse is that they knew it. They wore their pride on their sleeves like they deserved it, but they didn't. To them, they were the Six Sage of Paths reincarnated, yet they weren't — and they knew.

My father was by far the worst.

I picked myself up off the ground with as much dignity as I could muster. Dusting my maroon coloured hakama pants, and wiping my busted lip with a bandaged hand — seeing the wrappings dye red, I frowned. 

Back straight, face impassive, I walked out the dojo with all the pride father had not yet beaten out of me.

It wasn't much.

Like any other day, there was stares, whispers, and points. Following me through the open-aired halls, I remained strong. Wearing neither my father's broken frown, nor my mother's warm smile, not even my own lazy smirk — just nothing.

I forced their words through one ear and straight out the other.

"Did you hear what Daisuke-sama said..."

"Yeah, I couldn't believe it myself."

"What is it?"

"Ichirou-sama can't preform our clan's explosion release."

"B—But he's the heir!"

"... Not for long."

It hurt, and more than I'd admit.

Lips pulled down into a frowns, my hands gripped the hem of my haori, dark red. The Takahashi clan's crest donned proudly on my back. I hastened my speed, the black sandals on my feet making a soft patter as I did so.

Soon I came along a large shoji door, and with one strong pull it slid open. Instantly I slipped in, slamming it behind me, back pressed against as I sighed.

"Ichirou?"

I snapped to attention, locking eyes with my mother. She looked worried, as she always did, and it made my heart break.

Takahashi Ayane was not like the others in our mighty clan. In fact, she was openly against the act of following the herd. However, she was betrothed to Daisuke — my arse of a father — since birth. She was the former clan Head's daughter and he was the former Branch Head's son.

Yes, mother and father are cousins.

In some cultures, it was considered wrong for incest relationships. But for certain clans, such as our own, it wasn't. We relied on the older teachers rather than those of the new — adapted by higher ranking villages such as Konohagakure or Kumogakure. 

Our teachings believed incestious relations between high ranking clan members was not uncommon, but rather consider ordinary.

I thought it was weird, but hey — it wasn't an option. It was an order.

Despite the endless praise, the Takahashi clan had many unusual teachings. We're infamously known for our explosion release, yet it is not a bloodline limit. It is rather a skill Takahashi's flourished in.

Like most known clans, such as the Hyuuga in Konoha or Hoshigaki in Kiri — the Takahashi clan possessed many similar traits between each other that helped them to be easily identified.

We dressed in a traditional manner — that of the Warring States period. Wearing kimonos or yukatas, with our battle attires consisting of hakama pants, kimono-styled short-sleeved shirts and a haori to complete the works.

All, and yes — I mean all Takahashi's have the exact same eyes. Not in shape or size, but rather in colour. Deep maroon, pupil-less eyes were the sign of a Takahashi. Not to mention the very light shade of hair, normally a golden hue or sunshine yellow. 

Atop of this, we had tanned skin, resulting from the generations exposed to hot climate in the Land of Earth

"Ichirou, what's wrong?" Ayane addressed me with such warmth, it was hard to believe she belonged to our family, "You seem distressed."

I approached her, a small frown taking my tanned cheeks as I noticed my mother's appearance.

She's paler than before.

Like all in our clan, Ayana had a deep golden hair, which seemed to glow in the sunlight — although she hadn't seen sunlight in years. It was styled in a loose braid, resting atop her shoulder, reaching her waist.

She had the same maroon eyes. However, her's were warm, kind. A breath of fresh air in comparison to the hard, cold eyes I saw each and every day.

But what brought upon my sudden mood drop was her skin. Blotchy coloured and a unhealthy pale taking the place of her once honey golden skin.

"Come here, my child.." Ayane smiled. "Let me have a good look at you."

I quickly complied. Placing a cold hand to my face, she gazed kindly into my eyes, stroking my check lovingly.

"You've grown so big... it seems like only yesterday I held you in my arms, no bigger than my hand." She smiled, a little sadder.

Born prematurely, I was a frighteningly smile child. It gave my mother a nasty fright, but fortunately I pulled through and came out with my health in perfect condition.

The same could not be said for my mother.

My mother was born sick, just as I was, but she wasn't as lucky. The moment she opened her eyes, her life was a never ending fight for survival. Yet this was years before she even considered becoming a shinobi. Despite all her hardships, she was determined to prove all those how doubted her that she could rise above.

That she could become a shinobi.

And she did just that. Ayane became a well-respected shinobi, concurring many foes. But it came with a price. Her fatigue never left, instead — after her years of service to the Tsuchikage, Ayane was bedridden, her life fading.

My mother was all I had. She was the light of my life, the person who pushed me forwards — forced me to become the great shinobi she knows I can be.

I was barely four, not even having started my training, when I discovered that my light would fade away forever

Before I knew it, I was crying.

"Don't cry," Ayane shushed my outbreak, "Everything is going to be fine."

"B—But... it won't."

I shook my head, but I couldn't halt my tears.

"Soon you'll be gone and-"

"Oh, Ichirou." She pulled me forwards into a strong embrace, my face smushed against her kimono as I sniffed.

"I must go." I flinched at her words. "My time is near and you know this. You must live on, Ichirou. I'm so proud of you for all that you've done... but you're only young, my son. I love you but do not curse your fate — live."

The curse of being seven, born with an above average mind but no brawn to flaunt it — nothing but a child's flimsy body, completely useless.

She kissed my forehead, smiling warmly. "Do not worry, all will be alright."

Though I knew it wouldn't be. I just nodded, no longer wanting to strain my mother with worry — she should fuss over herself rather than me. I was fine, she wasn't.

"... What about father?" I pushed forward, knowing the topic was something was to discuss. But mother wanted no more of such talk.

"Do not worry of your father. Daisuke means nothing but good, he is under overwhelming pressure from not only the elders and our clansmen but the council as well... being right-hand to the Tsuchikage is not easy work. You know this."

I did.

"It's late, best you retire." She smiled, her tone commanding authority.

In a bare whisper, I asked. "Can I... stay here?"

"What was that?"

I flushed, a little pink. "Can I stay with you?"

She smiled, teasing. "Hmm, and here I believed the great Ichirou-kun was too big to sleep with his mother... isn't that what you said?"

"... Yes."

She grinned, jumping forth, arms wrapping around my waist. In a strong but gentle pull, she brought us both down, crashing onto the soft futon beneath. She laughed, like music to my ears, so happy and full of life.

I smiled, and snuggled closer.

She tucked us both in, submerged in a sea of warmth and fabric. Burying my face into the crook of her neck, I inhaled the scent of her perfume with a yawn. She held me a little closer, and unknown to me — she stared down at me, frowning sadly as she thought over my future.

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Just as the candle light flickered, mother and son cherished what little time they held with one another, and the light faded.

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Done! What did you guys think?