Chuunin Exam 1: The Journal

Sun Feb 26, 2017 3:44 am

”MISSION”:

Komori had woken up relatively early that morning in preparation for his first real exam. It was closer to noon than it was to six or seven in the morning, which is the time that he had just begun recently getting used to waking up. Today’s test was not half as physically demanding as the last three, so he had decided the previous night to reward his body with some well needed sleep, despite his loathing of rest. Time spent sleeping could have been time spent training, but alas, basic psychology shut that principle down. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and breathed a deep sigh as he smiled to himself, letting out a small chuckle. The past three exams had not even technically been chuunin exams. They were merely preliminaries in order to qualify for the next few tests. He had heard bits and pieces of what they would entail from his twin brother Komon and Senshi, despite neither being super talkative people. Regardless, he felt as though it was time to get some armor or something. He did not need it for his fourth exam, but he knew he sure as hell would for the next. Komon had managed to find their mother’s old suit of armor from her days as a shinobi in the boy’s shared home, so Komori decided to check the attic for himself. Komon had inherited their father’s vest, but the two were so young at the time of his death that Komori could not even remember whether or not his father even had a special set of armor like Invictus. Komon had mentioned something about loaning him the set of armor, which would actually help him greatly.

Komori began to sort through various items in their attic. He had never been up here before, instead, he had relied on Komon or any movers to place the items up here. He refused to get near them. Komori felt as though he was more affected by the death of his parents, as they affected his entire character and desire to be a shinobi. He had never truly gotten over their passing the way that Komon had seemed to be able to do. He went through boxes and bundles that he had not touched in years. This had been everything that his parents had left him with upon their deaths. picked up a pile of papers and tossed them into a nearby box that was not closed before noticing a dull glint in the corner of his eye. The light from the attic window was shining upon a metal clasp, but due to its age, it barely reflected the light. After moving various boxes aside, Komori pulled out a dusty chest which had belonged to their father from the recesses of the attic that neither boy had really touched. He could not speak for Komon, but Komori himself had never truly gotten over the death of his parents. He was aware that they had passed as he felt the effects of being an orphan, but managed to subconsciously block the true feeling of loss, whether it be through jokes or sheer willpower. He blew onto the wooden box as dust scattered into the air as a result of the sudden gust of wind. He unlatched the squeaky metal clasps that kept the chest shut and lifted the creaky lid. This was probably the most pressure that the old chest had had to bear in quite some time. Upon its opening, Komori discovered a slew of items. Old clothes, a small stack of leather bound books, various photographs of their family, but, alas, no armor. He picked up the first photo that he saw. It was a picture of the four of them, father, mother, and two sons. Komori was between his father and his mother, walking while holding both of their hands. His brother Komon had been sitting on top of his father’s shoulders. They were all smiling. He set the photo down, as it was too painful to reminisce. His father had usually worn the standard garb associated with jounin. Underneath the clothes, however, Komori discovered ANBU clothing. He blinked in bewilderment. He had never known that his father was a former ANBU black ops member. Komori, of course, could not wear this, lest he be confused with any actual ANBU members. This uniform was sleek though, and seemed to be eternally damp, as everything else in the chest was dry. It must have been customly designed for a Hozuki, which only made Komori even sadder that he could not wear it. However, he had to respect the laws of the village. This included not impersonating higher ranking shinobi. He was not sure, but based on simply the way that the Raikage seemed to run his village, he could only assume that the punishment was death. Komori began to read one of the books in the chest. “This journal is the property of Choro Hozuki. If found please return to…” Komori froze. Choro. That was his father’s name. Komori looked back towards the stacks of books and read all of their inside covers. All were the journals of Choro Hozuki. Komori picked up the one which had originally been placed on top, that had an odd stain on it. He was going to have to hurry to the chuunin exams if he hoped to finish it today.

He put on his iconic hoodie and headed out the door. Then he walked back in in order to grab a quick snack, as he tucked the journal under his arm and headed out the door once more. He began to walk down the cobblestone streets of the Village Hidden in the Clouds simply admiring the village. There were many aspects of the place that could be qualified as downright disturbing, but it was still his home. It had taken him in upon the death of his mother and allowed him to grow into the person that he was today. No matter where he went in the future, he would always remember Kumogakure as his first home. Upon finishing his food, he rested his free hand on the journal which belonged to his father. It would certainly be a word count killer, I mean time killer as he was waiting on his exam to start.

Upon reaching the collection of buildings set aside for the chuunin exams, Komori turned around in a quizzical manner. The buildings were arranged in an arc that resembled a curved U, being placed in order of the examinations, starting on his right. He noticed the looming structure of the mazes as well as the medium sized building that allowed for potential chuunin to show off their skills, and the peeking slight orange tint of the arena placed behind the building in the depths of the forest. Then the small but long building that contained several enclosed rooms for the taijutsu challenge. Komori shuddered as he had now developed a phobia regarding bearded men in tight quarters. He considered going inside and destroying that damn wall that Senshi had consistently thrown him towards, but opted against it, as he had better things to do. A building stood next door that was as small as the taijutsu preliminary building but not half as long. It was a rather intricate design, which was a nice change of pace from the blandness simplicity of the last few buildings. It was beautifully crafted and there seemed to be a slight blue glue surrounding the entire complex.

Komori stepped through the front door and into yet another waiting lobby. So far, this was the least crowded one. This must have meant that most of the genin either failed their taijutsu exam by not showing enough prowess, most likely the fuinjutsu main specs or puppet users, or simply dropped out and stayed genin for the rest of their shinobi careers, hopefully to attempt later. A bunch of genin would not benefit the Village Hidden in the Clouds, or the Land of Lightning for that matter. That was one of the reasons he tended to dislike any missing ninja. Free roamers. Those who served nobody besides themselves as they journeyed across the land in a seemingly selfish manner. Komori would rather fight for a cause, whether it be for a village, friends, or family. He himself wanted to be promoted in order to better serve Kumogakure. He walked up to the front desk where a woman sat busily writing some notes. He waited for her to finish as she noticed him standing there, “Ah, you must be another candidate for becoming a chuunin! Write your name on this sheet of paper,” she said gesturing to a sign in sheet on the desk, which he had not noticed before. “Just have a seat right over there and we’ll call your name when we’re ready.” She gave him a polite smile which he recognized as not quite genuine, and more of a front that she had to put on for her current duties. Heh. Duties. So Komori sat down and began to further read his father’s journal as he waited in the lobby to be accepted. The particular copy that he had brought had been one that he had never heard of. His father would often tell his two sons stories of his adventures as a shinobi, instilling within them a sense of awe and wonder which led the two boys to desire to enroll in the academy. But this one contained a story which he had never read before. He started to read it and, as a result of piqued interest and others taking forever, Komori managed to read up to where the book seemed to end. It cut off halfway through the journal, as the rest of the pages afterwards seemed to be blank. It had been the story up to the final mission that his father had been on.

A man stepped out from behind a closed door. He wore a black bandana on his head, and had a chiseled, square shaped head. He seemed to wear a permanent frown and had stubble across the lower half of his face. “Hozuki Komori.” This guy had said his surname first and then his given name. While it was not necessarily common, Komori could only think of one other person who did that: Senshi Kobayashi. Or was it Kobayashi Senshi. Whatever. The genin stood up, still holding his father’s journal, now closed. He had a look of determination on his face, as he was going to finish taking this exam before he went to bed. He stepped forward and began to walk past the man when he stopped him. “Please leave all loose items with the front desk.” Komori stared the man in the eyes with daggers. When it was clear that the boy was unwilling to leave the book which belonged to his late father behind with a stranger, the man just shrugged. “Whatever.” The burly man then lead him down a short hallway and take a slight right as he led him to a medium sized room, with a blue glow along the walls. “This room is the center for our genjutsu exam. Upon entering the exam, you’re going to sit in the middle of the room and await further instructions. Be sure to sit with your legs crossed.” Komori was not sure as to why that was such an important detail, but he was going to do so nonetheless.

Komori walked over to the center room and turned around to ask his proctor what would happen after he sat down, only to see that the door had closed silently behind him, sealing him within. He exhaled deeply and moved towards the center of the room. He usually held a disdain for genjutsu, as he did not like how it seemed to warp reality and lead the target to believe in something that was not truly there. He could, of course, be reasonable and see the combat applications of this technique, however, in a situation as simple as this, he believed that it served little to no purpose. He knew why he wanted to be a shinobi. He wanted to protect those that he had loved. His confident demeanor had changed slightly after his first time outside of the village before his parents had passed away. The C-rank mission dealing with temple robbers had affected him more than he had let on. He’s usually all fun and games but if anything, his last few exams had changed that as much as he would allow them to. He had begun to realize that the shinobi world was not one for children and still ignored it. Instead, he focused on himself and bettering himself, mainly to run from his problems.

He sat down in the center of the room with his legs crossed as he closed his eyes. He decided to be a slight smartass and hold his hands out to his sides, bent at the elbow, with his index finger and thumb connecting while his other fingers were spread out as he quietly muttered an “Ohhmmmm,” as a part of pseudo meditation. The genin was beginning to grow impatient so he decided to open his eyes. He had opened his eyes many times before, but this was one of the first times he would truly begin to see, as he began his decent into his mind and ideology. A gong sounded that seemed to cause the world to disappear around where he was sitting. He was left sitting down in darkness as reality faded away and left him stranded. Alone. His worst fear. Athazagoraphobia. The fear of being forgotten or ignored. Anxiety kicked in and he stood up and began to pace. Was this the reason behind his narcissism? He had always presented himself as so great and as someone who should never be forgotten. He would not let people abandon him. They would remember him regardless of who he was.

Then one shape appeared in the seemingly eternal void of nothingness. A smile. A smile that grew into a kind face and eventually grew into an entire person. His father. Suddenly, his pacing came to a halt as he felt pushed back and found out that he was sitting on a stool in his former kitchen. He was eating breakfast that his mom had prepared. This was not a memory. He could smell the freshness of the waffles below him, feel the texture of the pancakes with abs as he pressed his fork against them and cut into them. Her waffles were to die for, according to Komon who was scarfing them down as if this was his last meal. Komori looked up from his food after taking a syrup filled bite and took in his surroundings. He recalled his brother banging on his bedroom door and heard him going down the stairs. “Hi, Dad!” Komori had walked downstairs after his brother had seen their father. It seemed as though time had sped up until his departure, leaving Komori a brief moment to witness familial conversation, which would be the last that his father would be present for. Sound died down, focusing on a single noise. His father’s voice: “Alright guys, I have to leave on a top secret mission, and I’m gonna be gone for a while. I should be back in a week. Be good for your mom while I’m gone.” The dreaded last words that they would ever hear from him. Komori quickly dropped his fork which made no noise as time seemed to slow. Komon ate waffles in slow motion as his more attractive twin got up from his seat and turned to run around the counter. He had said his goodbyes last time, but this time his father left before he could. He would not get a second chance. This was unacceptable. The Hozuki genin would then follow him out of the door into a bright white light.

Flash forward. “One of my kids unlocked his kekkei genkei already.” His father was speaking with a few of his jounin buddies before a mission. They seemed to be drinking, but assuming by their body language and other such things, it was not anything with a significant amount of alcohol. Komori could smell the room, and he did not smell any booze. He did, however, smell smoke and noticed one man lighting a cigarette and placing it into his mouth. Gross. Komori began to remember this man. He had once offered the young Hozuki a cigarette to which the unwitting boy had accepted and promptly began to choke on, as he inhaled too deeply which triggered his gag reflex. The man had found this funny and gave a hearty laugh as he clapped the boy on his back. He had forgotten that. What? I don’t remember this? Komori would think to himself as he found himself watching his father, which was a fair question, as he had not been part of this conversation. Then it clicked. He had read about this in his father’s journal. His father took a swig from a flask that most likely contained water. Members of the Hozuki clan did have to remain hydrated at all times, which meant that his father was as far from an alcoholic as one could imagine. Alcohol was one of the quickest ways for a person to dehydrate. “The younger of my twins, Komori, turned into a puddle just the other day,” he laughed, “I had to talk him into reforming again, but he was so happy. He said, ‘I could be just like daddy!’, before throwing his arms around me.” His father’s was a face full of pride.

Flash forward. His father was escorting a caravan. The contents had always been a secret before hand, but upon reading about it in his father’s journal, Komori had discovered that the caravan contained various goods as well as...a Rhino? He was confused, as Komon had never bothered to inform his twin brother that their dad was a rhino summoner, but Komori had finally read about it in his journal. It was a sunny day, without any clouds in the sky. His father stepped over a puddle as he could be seen with his journal strapped to his person. He then stopped, and as a result the caravan had stopped as well. Choro’s arm lit up in lightning as he performed a mastered form of chidori without using handseals. He then jumped backwards and chidori’d the puddle he had just almost stepped in. A small puff of smoke later, and Choro’s arm had impaled the upper left torso of a Hidden Mist shinobi. Choro withdrew his hand and deactivated the technique as his comrades looked on. He addressed them all, “There may be more of them, keep your eyes open.” The other jounin immediately listened. He seemed to have an air of respect. Komori felt a pit in his stomach. He had an air of respect. His father then lifted up the wounded Hidden Mist shinobi by his shirt and then placed his other hand on both of the shinobi’s hands before liquefying and having his hands act as a miniature water prison to prevent him from performing handseals. “Where are the others!” His father was all action on missions apparently. He had never been this harsh with the boys at home, even if they had accidentally broken something of value. The shinobi spit on him. Seeing as that this was useless, his father lifted up his finger in the shape of a gun and shot a water droplet through his heart. Komori was stunned, as his father had never taught him any hydrification techniques to be used for combat. Granted, he probably would have, provided he had a chance to. Komori saw his father quickly jot some notes down in his journal before hiding it within his chuunin vest. His mother must have found it and stored the journal before giving Komon the jacket.

The last written page of his father’s journal flashed before his eyes, magnified upon the final line. What had once been black ink had transitioned upon reaching this page. Instead, the text was written in a dark shade of red that Komori realized was actually blood. The letters were larger and smeared, in a much sloppier manner than the rest of the journal had been written in. Komori’s heart fell as he realized that his father had spent his final moments writing about his family. “To Emi Komon Komori I will always lo” the blood trail then smeared downwards until it seemed to slip off the page. Komori looked on as his father seemed to activate the summoning jutsu when the world went to black.

Flash forward. His mother at the door on a rainy day. She had smiled when Komon had run up to it, but was too young to figure out how to properly open the door, so he went back to playing with Komori. However, upon hearing voices from the doorway, Komon had run up to peek. Komori, being a curious little twin, followed his brother to see what all the commotion was about just in time to hear the man say, “I’m sorry,” and hand their mother a vest along with a stained book. The journal as well as the very vest that their father wore. Their mother clutched the two items to her chest as she broke down sobbing. The two jounin that had delivered the news looked as though this event shattered them inside as well. They were his closest friends, after all. The ones that had lived to tell the tale. Not as deeply as the echoing wailing of their broken hearted mother, however. This left a permanent scar on Komori. He never did quite get over it.

Why was he seeing this? Was it simply the genjutsu drawing out the most recent information in his mind and allowing him to visualize it with such accuracy that it seemed as though he was there himself? Or was this part of his drive? This lust for power that he seemed to possess. Or was this an innocent drive to better himself for the protection of his home. Although, quite frankly, he did not care for the land. He cared about the Village Hidden in the Clouds, but if it were to be destroyed, he would not give his life in its defense. He would sacrifice himself for the people. The physical location would not matter. As long as there is a group of people with the shared idea, they will continue to be a village. The idea of Kumogakure in their heads would persevere as they were driven to save their own lives and save the idea of their home. As long as there were Kumogakure shinobi left alive, Kumogakure would never die. Everything has the chance to fall apart and crumble over time, whether it be a house, a building, a road, a block, a park, the raikage’s office, or the entire village itself. But ideas are eternal. The belief in a village would be more infallible than any defense that could be placed. It appeared as though Komori’s entire character was meant to serve others. He had begun to believe in the motto: ‘In serving others, we become free.’ He knew that his own well being would not matter as long as it meant the preservation of lives, ideas, and the village. He would gladly face any odds if it meant that his comrades were able to live on, even if it led to his own death. That small, diminishing sense of narcissism echoed inside his mind that he wanted to be remembered as a hero. Komori Hozuki, the savior of the weak, the innocent, and the abused.

However, he knew the worst was yet to come. The thrill of seeing his father in action was all too much for him to fully comprehend completely. He acknowledged his father’s badassery but the death was too much for him to handle, so he subconsciously took in the facts and would feel the emotional impact later. This was good for a shinobi, as it meant that one would not get too emotionally during a mission, and act on impulse instead of careful thinking. However, he knew that the most emotional thing he had ever had the displeasure of experiencing was coming up. It was deep in his psyche, and this genjutsu was sure to bring it out.

Flash forward. Komori was playing some silly childish game with his brother in the woods outside of their home. He tried to brace himself for what was coming. An ear splitting scream. One that inspired instantaneous fear and horror. Both of these emotions, the two twins currently felt as they ran home as fast as their bodies would carry them. Quite frankly, that may have been why both boys put such an emphasis on speed. I’m going to make it this time. Komori was not witnessing this. He was experiencing it all from a first person perspective of his younger self. He and Komon were dashing through the woods to their now damaged home. As they had not been trained in the shinobi arts yet, the two were not near as smooth in their running, occasionally losing their footing and stumbling. They arrived to the sound of crashing as a strange man came out of their home holding an item. His sinister grin flashed at the boys as hauntingly as a flame that burned its image in their minds. The sun was the next thing to flash, as it illuminated the man’s headband and face. His face contained a long diagonal scar on the right side of his cheek. Komori was filled with a rage where he wanted to reopen that wound. His headband was that of a shinobi from the Village Hidden in the Mist, except that it had a line scratched through the entirety of the symbol. It seemed as though that village just bred violence. Komori had little knowledge of their blood games, but he knew that it involved throwing shinobi against each other purely for the sake of killing. It was not hard to imagine that kind of mindset. Komori had never had experience yet, but he believed in death only when it was absolutely necessary. In his arm, he carried a jar with two, in tact, byakugan eyes which were rather bloody. Komori snapped as he charged towards the man. He scoffed. “You brats aren’t worth my time. I already possess what I came here to collect.” He held up the jar in order to mock them. Komori did not realize this as a child, but now, these memories. He possessed a natural byakugan already. Could this man have been a Hyuuga, too? Find out next time on Dragonball Z. He disappeared in a cloud of smoke, as Komori jumped through it, only to not find his target. He yelled and pounded his fist as Komon had run inside the house.

Not again. Please, God, not again. “Komori!” His brother shouted his name and sounded terrified. I can’t go through that again. “Komori, she’s still alive! Komori!” Komori felt the sensation of crying overtake him as he resentfully got to his feet. He forced his unwilling body to take him into the house. Papers scattered, furniture ruined, various holes in the floor. His mother must have tried to defend herself with Hyuuga moves like palm rotation, that tended to leave craters in the ground. She went down fighting. He forced himself to move past the damaged home. He noticed for the first time that his father’s chest, the one from the attic, had been stored behind the couch under a table. It was left ajar. His mother must have been going through old memories. Komori noticed a particular picture sticking out and leaned over to grab it. It was a picture of the four of them, father, mother, and two sons. Komori was between his father and his mother, walking while holding both of their hands. His brother Komon had been sitting on top of his father’s shoulders. Except this time it was stained with blood. He knew that it was not stained in the true world, but this genjutsu had a sick sense of humor. The blood spatter covered the faces of his father and mother. Instead of smiling, Komon and Komori were crying. “KOMORI!” He threw the photo down to the ground and headed towards the room where his mother laid. Her body was in bad shape. She was leaning against the wall with a hand holding her up and her other hand covering her stomach. Komori was too young at the time, but now he realized that she had probably been disabled by Hyuuga taijutsu techniques. She gasped for air. Komori forced himself to look upon her face. Her mouth open as she continued to struggle breathing. Her rosy cheeks bruised. Her hair a mess. Her eyes voids. Her eyes had been ripped from their sockets, resulting in blood pouring from the area where her eyes used to be. “Is he here, Komon?” Komori recalled that she could not see. She was reaching out for him with the hand that was on her stomach. The Hozuki reached out his hand and took hers with tears in his eyes. “I’m here, mom.” A drop rolled down his face. “Boys, you’re both here.” She smiled, but it was still obvious that she was sad. She would have cried if she was able to, but she no longer had functioning tear ducts. The only thing that flowed from her face was crimson blood that dripped down onto her white dress, splattering on its fabric and staining the material. “I’m sorry.” Komori cut her off, “Mother, you don’t need to apologize-” before he was cut off himself. “Let me finish, please.” Komori nodded before realizing that she could no longer see it. He felt a pang of guilt in his stomach. “Okay.” She continued, “I’m sorry that your father couldn’t be here longer. I’m sorry that… that I won’t… be able to either.” She was beginning to choke up at this point. Komori’s memory usually ended here, at the point where she had started dying. He had ignored this part for years of his life but now it was being brought up from his subconscious by the genjutsu. “Promise me this.” Komori looked up as he did not remember her continuing. “I want you two to live for one another. Family… family is the greatest thing that we have in this world… It’s my wish for you two to grow up. Become strong men.” She smiled and forced a laugh through the pain. “Protect each other. Please.” Komori hung his head low and held her hand tight. “Of course.” Komon did the same, also crying. “Thank you. I love you both. So much.” Her voice trailed off. Komori looked up after a moment and began sobbing uncontrollably. He screamed in agony. At God, at the world, at life itself.

Darkness. Komori found himself on the ground. He sat there motionless in the all encompassing void. He was once again lost in the past. The darkness suddenly began to gradually turn to a light grey before becoming completely white. He felt a tug on his shirt and sat up. “Can I go home now?” Komori found himself standing face to face with a younger version of himself. The smaller Hozuki had to have been no more than seven, which was half of his life ago. He repeated, “Can I go home now?”. Komori changed his position so that he could kneel down next to him and placed his hand on the youngster’s shoulders. Tears welled up in his eyes once more. “Yes. Yes you can finally go home.” The boy’s face lit up as he turned and ran in the opposite direction. Komori, still leaning on a knee, would see the boy run up and reach up. A hand materialized in the air and grasped his. Another, manlier, hand grasped his other one. The bodies would then form in the same way that his father had, seemingly hours ago. The first hand belonged to his beautiful mother, Emi Hyuuga. The second hand belonged to his father, Choro Hozuki. Upon their full bodies coming into view, the young Komori Hozuki held both of their hands and walked in a line with them as Komon was sitting atop their father’s shoulders. The family laughed together and talked low enough that Komori could hear the vibrations of their voices but could not make out what was being said. He smiled as a tear dropped. He was finally leaving his past behind. It was time to remember the happiness from his past and allow the good memories to stay pure, untainted by the cruelty of the shinobi world. Instead, it was time to look forward to the future. To a family that Komori could have with his own wife. Kids of his own. A family, his friends that he had made during his time in the Village Hidden in the Clouds, and a village itself. Something worth protecting and laying down your own life for. He looked into the sky where the sun began to shine, symbolizing his newly found optimism. He then felt tired. More tired than he had ever felt before. “Protect each other. Please.”

Upon waking up from the genjutsu, Komori found that he had actually still been sitting in the crissed crossed position for the entire time, despite having felt as though he was moving the entire time. He felt the tears running along his face, as he must have cried while in a trance. Before anything else, he hurriedly checked the journal where it had ended, and skimmed towards the middle. Nothing. No blood final message, no nothing. So he continued. His father was pressed for time, so he might have done it later on a random page. Nothing. Komori was nearing the end of the book as he finally turned to the last page. There it was. Did the proctors take his book and find a way to implement that into the genjutsu? He could not have imagined it himself. Still, he took minor solace in the fact that his father had been thinking of family in the end. This would just drive Komori to place family even higher than he already had. He was no longer in the genjutsu so the proctors would no longer know his thoughts. But family came first. Family, friends, and village would always be his top priority.

Komori was escorted out of the room and back into the lobby. “You’re free to leave. Our proctors will analyze the results of this exam and send the results back to your personal home. Or if you would like, you may remain here for however long it takes.” The woman smiled at him and Komori looked up with a dazed face. He seemed as though he was in a trance. While this exam was not near as physically challenging as any of the others, it drained him both mentally and emotionally. Had it been any other exam, he would have waited to hear the results, however long it took. Today, however, he declined and instead heading home. My father was strong, but he was not strong enough. Komori decided to embrace his bloodline in a way that he had not before. As he was walking home, he stopped at a park and looked over at the forest. It was quite peaceful, but the tree trunks also made decent targeting practice. He lifted his hand up in the shape of a gun and used his hydrification technique to liquefy a single drop of water, one inch in length. He would then expel his chakra towards his finger, firing the droplet off towards the tree at a power of 69 and speed of 69. As this was a rather emotional moment for Komori, he refrained from making any sort of sexual reference to the stats of the technique. The droplet seemed to pierce clean through the tree, as his father had described in a journal that it pierced clean through bodies as well. Komori lowered his hand and looked towards the tree without feeling. He was just in an off mood. Seeing his father and mother like that did not make for good memories. This genjutsu exam had crushed his spirit for the time being. He just needed a moment of time for everything to process and continue on, but for now, he would walk home and sleep until morning, awaiting his results.

WC: 6143

--Exit--
Requestion: 7AP, 3k ryo, 10 stat points, Water Gun (4000/4000), Permission to move on to the next mission.

Sun Feb 26, 2017 4:31 am

Approved <3

Chuunin Exam 1: The Journal

Chuunin Exam 1: The Journal

Re: Chuunin Exam 1: The Journal