When you were young, your parents had been killed by a group of rogue ninja. Thankfully, you were not home at the time that it occurred, but they took all that you had from you- your family, and your home.

Thus, ever since that fateful day, you had been awaiting the day that you could finally attend the academy, to learn and train to become a ninja, so you could hopefully find those men who ruined your life, and to prevent others from suffering the same fate.

But there was only one problem. Not long after joining the academy, you learned that you were practically talentless- you fumbled a lot, and failed at simple tasks. Not only did this damage your self-esteem, but other children in the academy laughed at and mocked you, building up a sense of resentment.

And yet, you never told anyone off. Instead, at the end of classes, you often took long walks to clear your mind- it's not like anyone was waiting for you at home, after all.

And so, it was another walk. But this walk was longer than usual, entering into a forest as the sunset casted an orange hue around you. Though you were staring at your feet, kicking about the dirt and rocks in your way in a frustrated attempt to let out your anger, you stopped when you saw a man ahead, rested up against a nearby tree, a book in hand. He was a shinobi, clearly, by his headband and vest. But he had long, spikey silver or white hair, and a mask that covered his face, while his headband covered his eye. He didn't even seem to notice you at first, too invested in his book.

Just as you were about to walk past him, he looked up, causing you to pause. He observed, then spoke, saying,

"Mm. . .a kid? What are you doing out here?"