[Miyamoto Ikana]

To the reader. Before we discuss how a Shinobi should die, we must first talk about how a Shinobi should live, and what a Shinobi is. Then compare what should be compared to the reality of the situation.

A Shinobi is a soldier, a representative of their village, and a part of its general economic and military success. A Shinobi should be more than just a tool, though they are such. A Shinobi should be diligent, loyal without question, a paragon of the values and virtues of which the village instills, and should be willing to sacrifice themselves for the greater goals and ambitions for their village. A Shinobi should be worth something until they are broken.

A Shinobi should not seek valor, or glory, or honor, and instead should find satisfaction in knowing their work was done for the needs of the village, and live in the shadow of their deeds. A Shinobi should accept the idea of being forgotten. The life of a Shinobi is a disposable one, if they done what they were tasked, that should be enough.

A Shinobi no longer is in control of their life in the grand scheme of things. They are a possession that lives their life dictated by the village, for the village. For some, such dedication is a difficult thing to grasp in the face of selfish agendas, the glory of a clan, or to press forth ambitions. It's far easier to detach such values in others. It's far easier to instill these things to those that have little, or nothing of value.

To those that find little to no value in themselves. Hence. The downtrodden, the meek, and the orphans are the best of these things. For if you were to take an orphan of Kirigakure and make them believe they have value, that they aren't a nuisance, and that they can be worthwhile to someone? They would fight ferociously and loyally regardless of any situation. And even if not all Shinobi start as orphans, it is not uncommon for many of them to end up as such. A dangerous profession where few reach elderly age. 

[Miyamoto Ikana]

How should a Shinobi live?

A complicated question with as many answers as there are Shinobi to answer.

I honestly don't know. However, I like to find comfort in believing that if I were to die at any point in my life, it wouldn't effect anyone. That no one would care. To find little to no value in my life. It was only when I began to believe in the idea of people caring, in the idea of people loving me, that I began to suffer. It was when I began believing I was worth something of value that I began to suffer so much. It began to become difficult to stop holding onto that delusion. That genjutsu.

It takes so much more effort to care about things. It's best for a Shinobi to not feel strongly about anything. I'm not qualified to say anything. I'm just me. I had no mother. No father. No brothers or sisters other than my fellow orphans, and that was a relationship that was a conflictive one at best. Personally, I frankly begin to tell myself that if I stop caring, if I stop caring and expecting anything, then my life can't get any worse. Whether that's the truth or not. It doesn't matter.

I don't know why I'm writing any of this down. It's not as if anyone's going to read it anyways. It's not going to be published. Who cares anyways? It's worthless words on paper. I'm hardly living. I don't even know what it means to live really. Probably because I can't sleep. 

[Miyamoto Ikana]

A Shinobi I've come to conclude should never take anything with resentment. Nor should they take anything personally. I've realized that it's much better for me to pretend, as children often do, that everything is going to be alright. Everyone likes it better that way. It's easier to ignore the bad things in society after all. I've gotten to better living standards and conditions, and I struggle to really figure out what I live for personally. I don't look forward to tomorrow, or the day after. I don't have any long term goals and dreams that I think are attainable by any means. I don't know what's really worth living for.

Food doesn't entice me. I don't find myself vain or finding myself valuing much of anything. Maybe validation. Love. But that's only because I had a taste of that. When I was held in someone's arms for the first time, I wondered if that's what a real daughter would have felt like. I threw that chance away. Please. I pray to Kami. Grant me the strength. Let me be useful so that I can be loved and adored. Let me be useful so that people might look up to me and love me. Because I don't have the strength to love myself. I hate myself. You know that. I remember when I used to pray to you for food. A new set of clothes. For simple things. 

I prayed a few years ago that you would kill me. To make the death painless. To make my suffering less. You instead provided me with the skills and the maturity of pain. As well as the cowardice to be unable to kill myself. Then the revelation that love isn't for everyone. I never deserved to be loved, and that's why I am where I am. That's why my mother and father abandoned me at an orphanage. That's why you abandoned me too. Because I must have done something so horrible in my past life, that I deserved this. 

[Miyamoto Ikana]

I provide Shinobi across the village a valuable commodity. Paper bombs. They look at the equipment I sell them for fair prices. They call me a talented girl, running a business at my age. They seem nice because I provide them a service. Now that I'm growing up, I realize that people treat you well if you provide. I cook people meals sometimes, and they appreciate it when they're on a busy schedule. People at the hospital appreciate it. People at the gate. I've gotten better at it. Though I don't eat that much. I pretend everything is good. I pretend that I'm fine. I guess I am. Money in my account. Food on my table. A roof over my head. That's more than what some people have. Letting them smile makes it easier. 

I'm whiney and selfish. I know that. Thirteen years old. Still bitching and crying about the same thing from five or six years ago. Working on getting myself promoted now. For better pay and work. Maybe I'm not healthy. Maybe I'm not mentally all right or in there. I've gotten a lot better though. I've gotten a lot better at lying to people, and to myself. If you tell yourself something enough, you'll believe in most things. Like how I tell myself I enjoy my side job. Sitting in my shop, with shadow clones, making hundreds and hundreds of seals. Hours and hours of work. At least my calligraphy is impeccable. 

I wonder if people like me for me. Or if I even know what me is. What am I? Who am I?