| Tsururugi Miku | |
 |
|
| Personal | |
|---|---|
| Birthplace | Land of Wind |
| Birthdate | May 21st |
| Gender | Female |
| Age | 14 |
| Height | 5'7" |
| Weight | 105lbs |
| Blood Type | AB+ |
| Kekkei Genkai | Unknown |
| Classification | Kunoichi |
| Areas of Expertise | Kugutsu |
| Clan | Puppeteers |
| Affiliation | Sunagakure |
| Team | Unassigned |
| Rank | |
| Ninja Rank | Gennin |
| Student-Equivalent Age | Eleven |
| Genin-Equivalent Age | Fourteen |
| Chuunin-Equivalent Age | Unachieved |
| Jounin-Equivalent Age | Unachieved |
| Nature Type | |
| Element (Affinity) | Earth
 |
| Element (Secondary) | Wind
 |
| Family | |
| Father | Tsururugi Aoi (Deceased) |
| Mother | Arami Kuru (Deceased) |
| Brother | Tsururugi Hitomi (Missing) |
| Sister | Tsurugi Mai (Unknown |
| Instructors | |
| Former | Academy Staff |
| Former | Shitami Uru |
| Former | Tsururugi Aoi |
| Former | Hitoshi Ken |
| Signature Jutsu | |
|---|---|
| Kugutsu: Hitoshi |
|
Table of Contents
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Background
Long ago, I was born. I remember hearing tales of my birth from my mother. I was born into a loving, doting family, and my mother and father loved me dearly. I had a brother too, older than me by one year, so, it would be some time before I ever earned his approval. But, for then, my parent’s love was all I needed.
I was a good baby. I did not cry often, nor did I fuss. I went along with most of my parent’s wishes, or so I was told. I was far from a problem, and that was what they wanted. My parents did not wish to deal with a messy, noisy, fussy baby. But then again, who does? Looking back, I am certainly glad that I did not cause them too much trouble.
As I grew older, I learned to walk, to speak, to think, and even to remember. I began forming my own memories and processed information to form my own opinions. I realized that I had a beautiful mother and a strong father, a protective brother, and a brand new baby sister. They were all important to me, and I realized that. Without them, I could not survive, but it would be some time yet before I really learned what sort of strength I had hidden away.
When I turned four, my brother began training to become a shinobi. He was a natural that had inherited my father’s strength and mother’s grace and employed them both exceptionally while performing his training exercises. I was jealous. I did not want to be left out and I wanted to be part of the group. I wanted to become a shinobi too! I wanted to spend time learning from my father and earning his respect like my brother. I could not do that if I just sat idly by, but they did not want me to train, not yet, or maybe not ever. I was to sit by and watch as my brother improved.
I did not let that happen though. They would not train me, so I trained myself. I didn’t learn any fancy ninjuts or genjutsu, or even taijutsu for that matter. I just ran. I ran a lot. I got in shape and I learned to move and keep out of danger. I learned things by reading and observing my brother, even though much of what I learned would never actually be used, there was always that chance that I could find some way to make use of it later on.
When I turned five, however, my mother suggested training me. I was excited and my father knew it. My brother knew it, and I dare say my younger sister knew it as well. I wanted to learn, but my father disproved. My brother looked down on me for being a girl and for being weaker than him, and my mother was hardly willing to oppose my father on the matter. I had to look elsewhere for my training. I would find my first, true instructor at a run-down old craft store in the village. His name was Hitoshi Ken, an old man who loved to make things, and he was a practitioner of Kugutsu, though looking back, he was not very good at it.
I chatted with Ken for some time. He was a nice, charming fellow, and after all, he even gave me my own puppet! It was nothing fancy though, just a tiny little thing that I could practice with when I had the time. And I definitely found time to do it. If I were ever to earn the respect of my family, I had to learn how to be a shinobi and this was my opportunity. I trained hard, very hard, and soon, I was able to deftly control the little puppet I received. I desperately wanted to show my mother, but Ken cautioned me, saying that it might not be a good idea. I did not understand at the time what he really meant.
When I introduced my lovely little puppet friend to my mother, she was pleased, I could tell. She didn’t want to show it for some reason, but she was proud that I had been able to do something. My father, however, was not. I was not learning the techniques of our family, even though they were nothing special, and I was not supposed to be learning anything at all. I was supposed to grow up, same as my sister was, to be nothing more than a bargaining chip for my father.
He took my puppet and smashed it beneath his feet, scolded me, hit me, and then threw me out on the street saying that he no longer wanted me. I could not believe what was happening. I was only six and there was nothing in my mind that could comprehend being thrown out of my own home and not allowed back in. As I waited, foolishly, outside the door, I could hear my mother arguing for my side, but it soon died down after she was beaten like I was.
I returned to Ken and he took me in. For a week he made sure I did not try to return home, and when I did, I was let back in, but not without another scolding and some severe questioning as to where I had gotten the puppet. After I told them, I was banned from seeing Ken again. I was hurt, I could not believe that they were taking away my only opportunity for training. Ken hadn’t really taught me anything in several months, but he at least encouraged me, and now that was taken away.
I was isolated in my room, and on the occasions I came out, I received scorn from both my brother and my father. My mother still loved me, and my sister seemed completely complacent with everything going on around her. To me, she was precious. She was my baby sister. To my father she was another card in his hand, and I don’t think my brother ever realized she even existed. He was growing further away from the entire family.
It was my brother that proved to me that my father was nothing. That he was weak, small-minded, and evil. I was allowed to watch one day as my brother claimed he was going to show my father a technique he had learned all on his own, a technique that surpassed anything he had been taught thusfar. My father wanted me to see this, perhaps to further break my spirit as I was too see something else I was not allowed to do.
What came next, I could scarcely believe. My brother crushed my father in a horrible duel. My father, the brute who had done nothing but beat on us since we were young, my mother, my sister, and myself, the tyrant of the household, was defeated by an eight year old. Angry with the display my father gave, the uselessness of him, and the lack of any benefit for staying, my brother walked passed us all and exited the house, never to return.
I did not know what had happened or why. It was a terrible experience for all of us. With my brother gone, and my father enraged at the setbacks and the loss of face, we girls received more poor and harsh treatment. It would be over a month before the bruises I received faded, and it was no better for my mother or my sister. Unable to cope with the loss of my brother who had been given up on by my father as never returning, he drug me out to the training mat and demanded I perform where his brother had.
I could not. I did not have the skill or the knowledge. He beat me again and again, demanding some sort of performance that I could not give. I knew not what to do. I longed for some sort of savior, for something to relieve me of this painful life. I was not given that kindness, nor was I to be saved. I was to suffer far more yet, before the end.
I could not, nor do I still, remember when I had stopped loving my father and began fearing him. I would spend more and more time hiding away, practicing my puppetry on anything I could. I had attempted to salvage the puppet Ken had given me, but there was nothing I could do to save it. It had been broken completely. I did, however, examine its craftsmanship and attempted to make my own. While it was nothing special, even less so than the puppet Ken had given me, it was something I could to practice.
Day after day I was drug down to the practice floor where I met my father. I could not keep up with him, nor could I oppose him. If I fought back, I was beaten, if I did not suffice in my training, I was beaten. I walked a fine line that I could never hope to truly understand or comprehend, nor achieve. I did the best I could to find it and to walk it, but day after day I was left battered and bruised, broken of spirit.
My mother comforted me where she could. She was a truly kind spirit. My sister did her best as well. We had to stick together under the yoke of tyranny. I had wonder so many times during this period of my life why my mother had not left him years ago, taking me and my sister and fleeing elsewhere. I never asked her, but I can only look back and assume she had wondered the same thing. She probably had no option of leaving. She had nowhere to go and she could not just pack up and leave with two daughters who she would have to take care of, starting with nothing and just hoping to scrape by. While we suffered in our home, there was nowhere to run to.
As time passed, I grew older. I was ten when I realized that I could sneak out of my window and climb to the ground below and disappear into the night to find things to do. It was a good time for me. I was able to see Ken again and show him my puppet. He was pleased. I told him about my brother and he said to not worry, and that such a person was not worth holding onto. I told him about my father, and he was worried, but he had neither the strength nor skill to oppose him. We contemplated telling the authorities in the village, but Ken discouraged me from doing so after figuring out that nothing would come of it but worse treatment.
I continued to return home in the middle of the night, and getting less and less sleep, my pseudo-lessons began degrading more and more and I performed worse and worse. My father didn’t seem too upset at first. Things didn’t really change. He kicked me around some and then left me, panting and bleeding on the mat for my mother to take care of. It was a terrible life. I am still not sure how I managed to survive it.
One night, as I was sneaking out, I happened to run by the front of the house just as my father was leaving to do something. It mattered not what he was planning, but that he had found me clearly breaking the rules was not something I needed. He caught me with relative ease, being able to employ techniques of the shinobi and having far more speed than I, and once caught, I was drug home, thrown in a store room and locked up.
I was there for at least two days. It was horrible. I did not enjoy small, dark spaces, but I could not escape. The door was locked from the outside, and I had not the strength to break free. My mother came to me on occasions when my father was clearly out to encourage me from beyond the barrier. It was one of the only times I really had the chance to speak with her at length. It was one of the only good things that came of my seclusion, the other being a chance to rest and heal from the regular beatings during our supposed sparring sessions.
My father returned later in the evening of the second day of captivity and when he opened the door, things were different. His eyes were different, and the way he looked at me was different. He had always looked at me with contempt, but this… this was on a new level. It was beyond hatred. He had something in store for me that I would never wish on anyone. He beset me, intending to force himself on me, telling me that I was useless, not even worth selling off, and that he would kill me and be done with it, but only after he had his way with me.
I was afraid. More afraid than ever before, and in my desperation, I grabbed an unidentified, but sharp object, and rammed it up through his chest, driving it deep into his lung. As he choked on blood, he smacked me in the face with enough force to send me sprawling backwards. I hit my head hard, and was rendered unconscious.
When I awoke, he was dead, and I was unable to see from one eye. Thankfully, the damage to my eye was only temporary, and would heal, but I had a nasty gash on my face that would leave a scar, a permanent reminder of what had occurred in my youth.
The authorities had taken my father’s body away and left me with my mother and sister. They did not punish us outright because the word of three, and I suppose a fourth, being Ken, against the body of my father was enough to justify retribution in their eyes. I was let off of the charges of murder, and my father was forever branded as an evil man, all of the reputation he cared so much for, tarnished and destroyed by his demise.
The three of us were subjected to medical examinations and treatment. There were numerous cases of damage to all of us, and the medical shinobi were able to heal us and get us patched up. However, the worst news I had ever received came to us now. My mother was dying, dying of a cancerous illness that would soon take her life.
I didn’t know what to do, neither did my sister or mother. We could not handle her loss. If she died, we’d be all alone. She worried, and so did we. We did our best to care for her as her condition steadily worsened, but it would not be long before she was reduced to nothing more than being stuck in a bed. She was transferred to hospice care, and we became more and more worried.
I tried to take care of my sister, but I did not have the practical skills to do so. I turned to Ken, but I found no help there either. When I arrived at his shop, it was closed up. I peeked inside to see nothing of interest except for a box with my name written on it, so I broke open the door and went inside. Ken was gone. He had been evicted, and had left the box there to be delivered to me, I assume. However, that hadn’t happened yet, but here I was, ready to open it anyway.
When I opened it, I found a letter and a fair amount of straw used for packaging. The letter was of an apology, that he’d not be able to be there for me when I had the time to come by again. His store was unable to support itself and he was forced to close down, so he had moved away in order to search for different opportunities. However, he left behind something for me, something that I would cherish for many, many years, a puppet.
It was about my size, humanoid, with long gray hair and black and brown robes. It had lifeless white eyes that looked like pearls, and it even had a scar to match mine. It made me smile to see it, and as I continued with the letter, he explained that it was a gift for me, for what I had endured, and that if nothing else, it would be his way to be there for me.
I don’t know how long I sat there; hugging the puppet and crying my eyes out, but…eventually I drug the thing home and looked it over. It was harder to use than the smaller puppet. It required more work and more strength, and I had to practice more and more just to utilize it properly. A month later, I was finally able to move it well enough. It moved well, I had to admit. While Hitoshi Ken was rather poor in his kugutsu skills, he certainly made fine puppets. I could not understand how he would go out of business with such talents, nor would I ever.
That day, after I felt confident about my abilities with the puppet that I named Hitoshi, in honor of its creator, I brought it to see my mother. Her condition had steadily worsened, and she was not long for this world, but my performance with the puppet made her smile. It was her last smile. She passed away then, happy that her daughter had found something she enjoyed. My sister and I sat by her bed for several hours, crying and wishing for her to return to us, but eventually, our mother had to be let go.
We stuck together for a while, my sister and I. We could not just abandon each other so readily after all that we had experienced. We were granted the home, though it was only temporary as neither of us could afford to pay for it. We attempted to find jobs, but nothing was really available for us. Things steadily became worse, and soon I found myself wondering how I was going to take care of my sister. The only thing that came to mind was becoming a shinobi. I had some training with puppets, and that might be what I could do, but when I investigated it, there was no monetary gain for me early on, and so, that idea was of no use.
My sister found a job. She would not tell me what it was, and I did not press her. She seemed content to be able to help pay the bills, as her job seemed to pay a fair amount of money back out. Like her, I found something to keep me busy. I worked with my puppet. I knew that if I was going to become a shinobi I had to find ways to upgrade it and make it combat worthy. I admit, I had no idea what I was doing. Ken had not left me anything that would help me and Hitoshi remained just as it was, a puppet.
One day, my sister returned to our home as I was preparing a meal for the two of us. She seemed very sad and very distant. She refused to look at me and I had no idea what was wrong. I tried to pry a little bit, but she refused to speak of it. She merely walked over to me after the meal was finished, hugged me and kissed me on the cheek and then retired to her room. That was the last time I would see my sister.
I have no idea what happened to her. I assume she was tangled up in some mess that I could not fathom at the time. Probably something illegal, which would explain the money she was pulling in, and her disappearance was probably because of some failure or mistake on her part. I was sad. I had lost everyone. My brother, who I never liked, my Father, who had betrayed us all, my mother whom I loved, and my sister that I cherished. All gone, and without my sister pulling in an income, I was unable to hold onto our family’s home.
Soon, I was evicted.
I was not really prepared for a life all alone. Everyone I knew was gone, dead or otherwise. It was a sad existence for me, and the only thing keeping me happy was Hitoshi. I knew that alone, both Hitoshi and I were useless. We needed to do something. I had heard of puppeteers using their puppets as weapons, and I was unsure of what to do. I could perhaps convert Hitoshi to a tool of war and then join the ninja academy in Sunagakure, or I could… No, I had no choice.
I found my way to Sunagakure by hitchhiking on a caravan, and when I arrived, I looked around for a place to stay and the ninja academy so that I could apply when I had a chance. Sadly, I did not find a place to stay, at least at that time, so I wandered over towards the academy with the help of a few friendly people giving me directions. Once there, I went inside and asked if I could apply. I told them that I was alone, and I needed some place to stay and a way to survive. They assigned me someone who could help me improve Hitoshi and give me a place to stay. Her name was Shitami Uru, a relatively skilled kugutsu user, or at least, well-versed enough to assist me with some basics.
We worked for a week preparing Hitoshi for combat, and when I was ready, we made a cameo at the academy. The students were welcoming, for the most part, but when you had lived a life like mine, even the standard bully could seem like a generous, kind-hearted person. I did get along well with most of them and I tried my best to be social and to make friends, which I did.
As time passed, I progressed through classes, but few interested me. I only had a heart for Hitoshi and thus I neglected many of my studies that did not have anything to do with her, and because of it, I remained in the academy for a period of time that likely would be considered longer than most. I never quite got the hang of genjutsu, but I learned enough to be able to sense it and perhaps dispel it if I knew it was occurring, and I managed to get the clone and replacement techniques down, among other things. Over all, many of my skills were so poor that I was, in the end, forced to rely solely upon Hitoshi for combat. But that was fine. My dreams were coming true. I was a shinobi with a home and friends, and Hitoshi was always by my side.
Personality
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