Waiting is its own form of torture.
When you know a disaster is coming, the human brain begins to interpret every mundane thing as a threat. By the time the calendar flipped to the first week of October, I was in a state of constant overdrive.
If a caretaker dropped a ceramic bowl in the kitchen, my body braced for a shockwave. If a dog barked in the streets, I shook.
But the village operated on a different wave. What the citizens could see, hear, and touch was a golden age of peace. The markets were bustling.
I was the only one burdened by what this month represented. I existed in this reality, but my mind was entirely disconnected from the people around me. The path to power and survival in this world could not be walked while holding someone else's hand.
The day ticked down. October 5th. October 7th. October 9th.
And then, the sun rose on October 10th.
I woke up on my thin futon, staring at the water stains on the ceiling. It was a beautiful autumn morning. Today seemed like every other day.
Somewhere, far from the civilian sectors, Kushina Uzumaki was preparing for labor. Somewhere in the surrounding forests, a masked man was trespassing the security the Leaf Village possessed.
I went through the motions of the morning routine. I lined up for the washroom. I ate the gray, salted porridge. I did not look at the other orphans.
There was a boy who sat across from me at the low wooden dining tables, a three-year-old named Kenji. He had a habit of hoarding small, smooth stones he found in the courtyard. As I swallowed my food, he pushed a polished white river stone across the table toward me, offering a shy, gap-toothed smile.
I looked at the stone, and then at the boy.
In a few hours, this hall would likely be affected by shockwaves from the apocalypse. Kenji, the matrons, and the other children in this building were defenseless.
I did not take the stone. I simply stood up, carried my bowl to the wash bin and walked away. The guilt tried to surface, pressuring my chest, but I quickly suppressed it. I could not save them. I could barely hold on for myself.
My plan was simple. I would wait until the mid-afternoon, roughly around four o'clock. The matrons usually retreated to the staff kitchen for tea, leaving the older orphans to supervise the toddlers in the main hall. I would slip out the back door, walk to the western edge of the Hokage Monument, scale the cliff, and settle into the fissure before the sun went down.
Thirty minutes before the determined time, I began to mentally prepare for the exit. I tightened the string holding up my trousers. I checked the kunai, securing it into the folds of my shirt.
Fifteen minutes later, the doors of the main hall slid open.
The head matron marched in, clapping her hands. "Alright, listen up! The autumn harvest festival is tonight in the central district. The civilian council is dropping off donations at the front gate in an hour."
She gestured to two of the younger caretakers. "Lock the courtyard gates. I don't want any of them wandering into the streets and getting on the way while the carts are arriving. Keep them in the main hall until the event starts."
My heart gave a sudden, violent thud against my ribs.
I watched in horror as a caretaker walked to the back door and slid it shut.
The usual routine had changed. My exit was sealed.
Panic threatened to override my mind. If I stayed in this room, I was trapped. When the Nine-Tails showed up, I would be buried under the roof of the orphanage.
I needed to adapt.
I forced my breathing to slow, my eyes scanning the room. The front doors were supervised by the matrons preparing for the donation carts. The back door was barred. The ground floor windows were covered to prevent the toddlers from falling out.
There was only one unbarred exit. The ventilation window up in the hall.
It was a small, square opening near the ceiling, used to let out the heat from this place. It was roughly fifteen feet above the floor of the main hall, completely out of bounds.
To reach it, I would have to scale the interior wooden wall of the main hall. In broad daylight. Surrounded by these children and three caretakers.
I retreated to the darkest corner of the room, near a stack of blankets. I sat there, calculating my trajectory. The matrons were gathered near the front entrance, their backs turned, arguing over inventory lists. The orphans were scattered, distracted.
I had a window of perhaps ten seconds. If a matron turned around while I was walking up the wall, I would be reported instantly.
I closed my eyes, reaching down into my chest. I drew the pool of chakra downward. I engaged the counter-clockwise rotation, pushing the current down my legs and into the soles of my feet.
Emit. Spin. Suction.
I stepped out from behind the blankets. I didn't hesitate. I placed my right foot flat against the wooden planks of the wall.
I shifted my weight, pulling my left foot off the floor, and began to walk upward.
My heart pounded in my ears. I was completely exposed. Three feet. Six feet. Nine feet.
"Takeshi, put that down!" a matron yelled from the front of the room.
I froze, nine feet in the air, my body parallel to the floor. I didn't dare turn my head. I held my breath.
The matron scolded the child, her footsteps moving away from my position. She hadn't looked up.
I resumed the climb, moving faster now, abandoning caution for speed. Twelve feet. Fifteen feet.
I reached the small, square window. I grabbed the ledge with my hands, killing the chakra flow to my feet. I hauled my small frame through the tight opening, scraping the skin off my shoulders, and tumbled out onto the roof of the orphanage.
I lay flat against the tiles, gasping for air.
I was out.
However, this cost me time. I checked the position of the sun. It was dropping fast. It was past four-thirty.
I scrambled down, dropping into the alleyway behind the orphanage. I hit the dirt, tucked my chin, and rolled.
I began to run.
I didn't stick to a cautious walk. The timeline was too tight. I sprinted through the alleys, avoiding the main streets. My lungs burning as I forced my small body to maintain a relentless pace.
Every time I passed a gap in the buildings, I checked the Hokage Mountain.
The run took a severe toll.
By the time I reached the cliff, the sky had begun to turn a shade of purple and orange. The sun was setting.
I stood at the base of the mountain, my chest heaving violently, sweat stinging my eyes. Doing this climb while my heart was beating incessantly would be a greater challenge.
But staying on the ground was a guaranteed death sentence.
I closed my eyes, forcing myself to calm down. I summoned the chakra from my core.
Emit. Spin. Suction.
I placed my foot against the stone and began the ascent.
The fatigue made every shift of center of gravity feel like lifting a boulder. Ten feet. Twenty feet.
Halfway up, my right foot slipped.
The vacuum stuttered as my concentration wavered. I dumped a massive surge of chakra into the sole of my foot, trying to control this situation with brute force. The vacuum re-engaged with a sharp pressure, locking my foot to the stone.
I hung there for five seconds, my breathing ragged, before continuing.
Fifty feet. Seventy feet.
I reached my hands over the ledge, wrapping my fingers around the fissure I had scouted weeks ago. I hauled my body into the narrow crack in the rock mountain.
I collapsed against the floor, dragging my knees to my chest, my entire body shaking from the extreme physical and mental struggle.
I had made it.
I sat there, eighty feet above the village floor. I crawled to the edge of the crack and looked down.
The view was a spectacle. Konoha was spread out beneath me like in a map. As the sun vanished in the horizon, the village lit up. Paper lanterns glowed in the civilian area.
It would be a peaceful evening if not for what would soon happen.
I had executed the plan flawlessly. I had bypassed the locked door, scaled the cliff, and secured the high ground. I was now isolated from the structural collapse that was about to happen.
I sat in the darkness, waiting.