[Miyamoto Ikana]

Miyamoto Ikana found herself slowly training her instincts and reaction time. Becoming more versed in combat experience and the feeling of battle. This was especially true as she became further versed in Kenjutsu. Her eyes sought to become more focused on movement and action, and in this instance, this was especially true as she began to hone a new technique. The Iaigiri. Iaijutsu. The art of the draw and sheath. She’d heard the story of swordsmen that were so keenly intune with their surroundings that they could cut a single grain of rice or the wings off of a fly. Drawing forth her shortsword in swift flicks, she sought mastery.

She’d practiced with clones having hurled things at her. Larger items, throwing weapons, and other things to start. However, it wasn’t enough for her. Sometimes? She thought back to the time in the navy. The feeling of her blade sinking into soft flesh, and the pain that she’d inflicted. As much as she was ashamed to say? It made her feel wonderful. Powerful. Validated. As if it had granted her validity of her growth and as a measure of her strength. Ikana wasn’t sure if she was a sadist by any means, but the young Kirigakure genin did know that the fight was a thrill. The adrenaline, pumping through her.

Her pounding heart? To move off of instinct. She sought that experience again. Little did she know that there was someone looking for her today. Not that she’d have realized it. After all, most of her time was spent alone, managing her business or training independently. Located in the common genin training grounds, a bridge with a running brook and trees dotting the area, she was lost to the motions. Drawing and sheathing her blade in repeated strikes.

[Sora Minami]

Sora strolled through the gate that encircled the Genin training grounds without a word, one hand resting on Samidare’s hilt as she scanned the small crowd of fresh Shinobi gathered around the entrance. There was a party going on, of sorts: the Chunin Exams had just finished, and someone was celebrating a promotion.

I remember those days. She thought, lips parting in a rare, genuine smile as she passed the group by. The person she was looking for wasn’t with them, but the gathering brought back memories. The good kind, for a change. There was a lot of bad in that part of her life, but the party that her second squad had thrown to congratulate her on making Chunin had been one of the few times she had enjoyed herself after losing her first team. That none of her second team had lasted through the war, though…

"Tch.” Sora said, shaking the thought free before it could form. She had more important things to worry about than ancient history, or the feelings it brought up. Things like a Genin team of her own to shepherd through the morass of life that was being a Shinobi, and an orphan girl who she barely remembered from the Academy. There had been a lot of those during her tenure as an Instructor, too many to keep track of with any degree of familiarity, but this one had stood out enough that she could at least remember her name. And her file number.

Ikana Miyamoto, fourteen, assigned to Team 1, no specialization listed but higher than average chakra reserves. Decent grades, no citations, graduated without fanfare. Orphaned in the war, ran a small store that supplemented her income. A typical Genin, if resourceful and a bit of a misanthrope, if the last psych eval was accurate. Which it probably wasn’t, but if it was she would deal with it. The girl had been put under her care, and she wasn’t about to let a little thing like cynicism keep her from making sure she lived long enough to retire. That all of them did.

Now I just have to figure out how… She thought, slipping out into one of the smaller training grounds on a hunch. Ikana’s file had labeled her as anti-social (which was Psych’s way of saying traumatized and incapable of dealing with it), so it was likely she was out by herself, practicing some jutsu or another. Sora could remember doing that, after her team had died, before the Hunter Corps had come calling.

She walked through the trees for a good few minutes, senses open but picking up nothing, when all of a sudden she heard it. A sound, familiar as her own heartbeat, comforting and unsettling all at once- the scrape of steel on wood, of the edge slicing through air and rocks and whatever else could be thrown at the wielder. The soft cries of exertion, mixed with determined frustration, all under-girded by the steady trickle of a nearby stream.

Found you. Sora let the smile stay on her face as she strolled towards the source, lips parting slightly to show her teeth. She had her hair up, as usual, the right side of her face sporting its typical stray wayward lock, but otherwise she was what one expected of a Jounin; professional seeming, a coiled spring of lethality ready to strike even here, in the heart of Kiri.

"Hey there!” She said to the girl as she approached, at last getting a glimpse of her new, yet also former, student. Young girl, brown hair, eyes glazed over with that hyper-focused look of a person too caught up in what they were doing to notice anything else. Yeah, that’s her.

"You’re Ikana, right?”

[Miyamoto Ikana]

Traumatized was a way of putting it. Ikana had never had any parents. She'd grown up, told that her parents abandoned her because she was a burden. The orphanage matron was cruel and made sure that the children knew that their lives were trifle little things. It wasn't the cruelty of that situation that made her miserable though. It was the taste of love and compassion that drove her mad. It was the delusion of importance that made her spiteful to be in irrelevance. In the end? Miyamoto Ikana was as she lived, irrelevant. Her life had never mattered much to anyone.

According to Yamaguchi Daichi, it was the failure of the system and the cruelty of adults that had scarred her. Yet, Ikana was close to becoming an adult herself. Nobody liked her when she was miserable and depressed. They ignored her and avoided her when she was like that. So instead, she wore a mask instead. Mainly because it became impossible to kill her feelings. She closed her eyes, smiled, and behaved like a sweet thing. Before long, she was confronted by a stranger. Someone she felt she never knew. Only to be asked a very real question.

Was she Ikana? That question was superficial and yet also very deep at the same time. Taking a deep breath, she sheaths her blade, turns, and closes her eyes. Her head tilts slightly to the right as she curls her lips upwards, her weight shifted to her right leg. "Hai. My name is Ikana." The voice that spoke to her sounded too excitable or kind to be real. How could she possibly respond to that? How should she? Slowly releasing the hold on her scabbard, she rests both her hands behind her back. The pose she took could be considered adorable, as she slowly relaxes her hand.

"How may I help you?"

[Sora Minami]

Oh. Sora thought as the girl turned towards her, frame stiff with tension and the not-so-subtle confusion of someone not used to attention. Any attention. At all. So that’s how it is.

"Actually.” She said after a moment, her sky-blue gaze resting on the girl’s plastered smile, her own fading to something softer, more real. You couldn’t coax a turtle out of its shell without working for it. It had taken years for her to come out of her own shell- in many ways, she still hadn’t pulled out of that place, the cold, empty hole where she’d stuffed every horror and painful memory to fester. "I’m here to help you.”

Sora stepped up towards the girl then, left hand still resting comfortably on Samidare’s hilt as she raised her right towards her, offering the chance to shake. It was unlikely she’d take it, but the gesture had to be made; her sensei had done it, over two decades ago, and she would be damned if she broke that tradition just yet. Some of the other ones, certainly. But not that one.

"I’m Sora Minami, your new Jounin Sensei.”

[Miyamoto Ikana]

The next moment had been incredibly telling, if not confusing for Ikana. She mentioned she was here to help her. In those moments, the young Ikana found herself unsure how to respond. How to feel. How to react to that. Before she slowly bows her head. "I’m sorry. I think you must have the wrong person.” Ikana had been working in a morgue and as a part time assistant for the better part of a few years. So to be confronted and told that a Jounin was here to help her now of all times? It sounded rather incredulous. Ludicrous. Preposterous. Absurd. Unreal. Unreasonable. Impossible. Inane. Still though, she heard the name, and she found herself keeping that look on her face. That calm, cool, collected smile, as internally? She danced with many thoughts.

"No one’s been here to help me officially in about four…five years.” She’d learned everything from observation, self practice, or very occasionally, training with others near her level. She’d only very recently begun getting any guidance from superiors or adults. So, that left her feeling conflicted. Especially because she’d assumed all this time that Kirigakure had forgotten about her, after having abandoned her and tossed her to the side. Yet. Here this woman was, proclaiming that she was here to help her. Help her with what? The young girl found herself wondering if this was all a dream. Maybe this was some sort of strange genjutsu she’d been caught in.

Before Ikana found herself speaking something oddly real. Personal, and in truth? She didn’t realize she said it until she did? "I’m not worth your time.” Instead of taking that hand, she found herself clapping her hands together, and bowing her head, as if to ask for forgiveness. Because in truth? That was what Ikana felt. Very few people in Ikana’s life had ever offered her such opportunities like this, and with it, every time she’d taken it, it usually ended poorly. WIth her being hurt in unspeakable ways that nobody could truly ever understand. She took a deep breath, she felt the tension in her lungs, and she slowly let it go. Connections that made her vulnerable? She distrusted them. Despite the fact she wanted intimacy more than anything in this world.

She kept her eyes closed. Because if they were opened right now, they’d be filled with infinite chasms of uncertainties. The young brunette couldn’t really digest it all. She felt like she’d die if she did.

[Sora Minami]

There were few things in life Sora disliked more than having to repeat herself, but the complex flicker of emotions that danced beneath Ikana’s eyes was one of them. The girl went from confused to angry to uncertain to sad to resigned as fast as any war veteran, the trauma rearing its ugly head that quick- but she had half expected that. You didn’t go through life as a shinobi, particularly an orphan shinobi, without a few scars. She had a few herself. More than a few.

"This isn’t a mistake, Ikana, I-” Sora began, leaving her hand out even as the girl bowed and, perhaps unintentionally, said something that made her pause. The jounin blinked as the implications of her little bombshell bloomed, lips parting in a breathless sigh that had her shoulder deflate by the slightest of margins. Because she recognized that posture, the panicked eyes, averted so she wouldn’t appear vulnerable. The polite dismissal of assistance when the girl so very clearly needed it. And wanted, deep down. She had felt it, long ago.

Sora brought her right hand up, forgoing the handshake (for now) to run her finger through the bubblegum pink locks that, even now, were stirred by a gentle breeze. I’m going to kill the little shit in Psych who did her eval. Ikana’s file had shown nothing about this level of trauma. There had been surface remarks, the signs of something deeper, but not… not this. Not someone a half-step away from being broken, teetering on the edge but desperately trying to claw her way back to some semblance of safety. This was going to take more than a handshake to work through. A lot more. More, perhaps, than she had to give.

That wouldn’t stop her from trying though. Nothing would.

"...I’ll be the judge of what a good use of my time is, Genin.” She said after a long moment, lips pressing together in a thin line. Not in displeasure, but in the mock sternness she had once used with her students at the Academy. She wouldn’t be able to draw the girl out with a few kind words, not if her gut was right about the depth of her pain. Kindness was a detriment right now- but it wasn’t the only tool in her arsenal.

"Tell me. Sora began as she let her right hand fall back to her side, turning her gaze away from the brunette and towards the debris strewn about, the rocks and branches chipped and nicked and cracked every which way… but not cut. Not yet. "Have you cut anything yet?”

[Miyamoto Ikana]

Her eyes did widen to some extent, when she was told that Sora would determine what was a good use of her time. The sternness had reminded her of her time at the Academy. However, there came the question. When she was asked if she’d ever cut anything with that blade of hers. She didn’t know if she meant in terms of material items? Or if she meant people. She found herself nodding her head, and with it, she thought about it then. "I’ve killed about four people now.” She remembered those pirates quite clearly. It was a thrilling experience.

How she had stabbed that one in the balls with her Kunai, and twisted, before she kicked off of him. How her Saberu Jutsu was quite efficient at ripping people to ribbons. She was a wiry and fast little thing. However, for some reason, she began to wonder if that wasn’t what Sora was talking about. Was it wrong that she was able to say as she did? Her eyes closed, and her lips still curled upwards into a smile? Was that a sociopathic behavior? Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. Frankly. Ikana didn’t recall ever really seeking help from a psychiatric health specialist. Not that she would have trusted their judgment.

Taking her hand along the Wakizashi, she drew it in a fluid motion, before sheathing it again. Attempting to master the draw and sheath. However, as she looked at the blade, she found herself momentarily tilting her head to the side. Wondering if she was being observed. Analyzed. Like some sort of puzzle book. She remembered how surprised she was when Daichi brought up an info card about her. How ever since then she’d been doing most of her training discreetly. How she seemed to dislike prying eyes. Ikana lived in a strange paradox. Before long, she composed herself, and with it, she slowly opened her eyes again. To show as much brightness in them as she could muster.

"I don’t mean to be rude, but I do think you’re making a mistake. I don’t recall being moved to a Genin team. I’ve…been working at a morgue for the past few years for the medical corps. The only other place I’ve been is the navy for a year, for harsh labor. To finish off my sentencing.” Ikana found herself speaking as honestly as she could. It felt hard to believe they’d move her to be with Sora now of all times, but maybe that was a good thing? She found herself slowly smoothing a hand down the bandages that lay wrapped around her arms. "Unless I’ve been reassigned?”

[Sora Minami]

Ah. There she is. Sora thought as the girl, eyes still closed, answered her question in the affirmative- and then some. There was a bite behind all that angst, a cruell, wild thing that smiled in devilish pleasure at the memory of her kills, at the sheer thrill of fighting for her life and winning out. Oh yes, Sora knew that feeling all too well, had relished in it for years after her team’s death, nurturing the cold hatred of that shit-face Kaguya who had slaughtered them without mercy until it had, at last, exploded into the revenge she had long fantasized about.

It hadn’t helped then. But it had been a start. The girl, eyes briefly open, drew her wakizashi in a quicksilver flash of motion, the blade arcing through the air as if in demonstration. Oh yes, the girl knew her stuff –someone had paid attention during her Kenjutsu lessons at the Academy– but there was always room for improvement. Hell, Sora was a Jounin, a master of Ittoryu and one of the best swordsmen in the village, and even she routinely found little things to fix, small mistakes that crept into her posture and form. To her eyes, the girl’s form was solid, but the mechanics of her draw…

Well. There was a reason she had been assigned to be her Sensei.

"...You’re doing it wrong.” After a long, pregnant silence, lips pursing together as the girl tried, again, to get her to leave. Best to ignore that. Give her something to chew on. Like Sensei did. Her memory of those days was muddy and unfocused, but she could remember that much. Being drawn in, not by his kindness, but by his knowledge. By what she could learn, if she just listened.

Without another word, Sora slid her left hand down Samidare’s hilt, thumb against the tsuba as she took a single half-step back from Ikana- and drew it out in the same cut the girl had performed, but far, far faster. Samidare flew from the sheath less than a breath, the tip arcing past the girl’s face, missing by a half an inch as she stepped into the cut and unleashed her breath into the blow all in one, single motion. And then, before the girl could react, the blade was sheathed, ready to be drawn again.

"You need to follow through with the strike. And exhale when you step, not inhale.” It sounded odd, thinking about breathing when you were trying to cut someone in half, but there was a massive difference in power between a cut thrown with proper timing and breath control and one without. You could make it work, obviously, and even be quite successful without that foundation- but knowing how to do it right, drilling that form and mechanics and breath control into your head until it became second nature… that was the difference between a thug with a sword and a Shinobi.

"I can show you, if you want.”

[Miyamoto Ikana]

In the next moment. Ikana found herself being told something vital. She was doing it wrong. She stood there, imagining for a moment or two that she had. After all, most of what Ikana knew was self taught, and or observed from afar. What she hadn't expected was the blade that flashed before her face. A mere inch or so away from slicing her face or eyes. The strike was one that came at a blinding pace. Sheathing the sword came next all in a single fluid motion. It was nearly instant. Ikana looked on, and with it, she didn't quite flinch in the face of the blade.

Instead, she slowly observed Sora's stature. Her form. Her person was analyzed as Ikana tried to digest what was done differently. So that she might swing with the same speed. Until the next words came. That she could show her. Ikana didn't say anything for a few seconds. Instead, she found herself asking a different question. A simple one that was layered, but simplistically complex. "Why?" Why did Sora want to help her? Why now of all times? She found herself slowly relaxing her shoulders. Before looking into her eyes with her own honeysuckle. For just a few moments, she might see it.

The eyes were dull, exasperated, and seemingly tired. They weren't childish eyes that held hopes, or dreams, or aspirations. Those died for Ikana a long time ago. Eyes that held little self worth. Eyes that seemed drained of livelihood. The young girl before her wanted to understand. What value did she have, so that this Jounin came here today to so fervently seek to aid her? Were they here to monitor her? Maybe Sora was here to manipulate her, as she had been in the past. Ikana drew her blade outward as swiftly as she could draw it. Swinging at nothing in particular as she sheaths it again. Before she finds herself speaking.

"I don't understand. Why someone like you has come. After all this time, when I've been alone for all my life…Why I feel like everything I've done on my own is wrong." Before she slowly finds herself speaking the answer to that question. As she slowly looks down at herself. Her hands. "I suppose it's because I'm worthless. A failure. Isn't it? You're here to make me something worthwhile. So that even someone like me could be useful." Right? Ikana looked upwards, into Sora's eyes. As if using a logical deduction to find the answer. In some part, that was what Ikana hoped for.

[Sora Minami]

And just like that, she had the girl’s attention. Her gaze shifted the moment Sora drew the blade, a spark of something alive coming from their dull brown depths. Oh yes, Ikana was hungry- hungry to learn, hungry to grow stronger, hungry to carve out some sort of place in the shithole of a hand fate or destiny or God had dealt her. It was gone in a flash, replaced by that same careful mask, the wall of callous indifference that she had put up at the first… but it was there. Ikana wasn’t all the way gone just yet. And that was enough.

"You aren’t the only one who needed a helping hand, Ikana.” Sora said, tilting her head to the side as she regarded the girl- the real one, finally, not the cold mask of antipathy that she had crafted to push people away. A scared, scarred child who blamed herself for the cruelties that had been heaped upon her, yet still fought. Still struggled, even if she thought it pointless. Because in there, somewhere, was that tiny kernel of hope. Of belief.

"If you want to know why I want to help you, Ikana, just ask yourself this: what would you do, if our roles were reversed?” The Jounin smiled then, a soft thing that seemed to melt all the tension in her shoulders, her sky-blue eyes alight with compassion. Because she understood. "I was like you, once. Scared. Hurting. Alone. But someone, many people truly, helped me out of it. And now…”

Now it was time to return the favor.

[Miyamoto Ikana]

There was that question. What would she do if the positions were reversed? In truth, that was a difficult question to ask. Because there was a point in time where Ikana found herself cynical, selfish, and uncaring about other orphans in her situation. Their suffering, because she lived that struggle. It was a battle to really make it by and it was always a struggle. However, she found herself doing more altruistic things all the time. For her fellow Shinobi, for the orphans, for all of those things. Though she didn’t know if she did it because it was out of the goodness of her heart, or if it was because of something else. Ikana hardly understood her own feelings, mainly because she bottled them. Pushed them aside.

Until she was told that Sora was once scared, hurting, and alone. That people helped her. Until Ikana found herself slowly putting her blade aside. It wasn’t really a thought or focus point for her at the second. Because she wasn’t sure if she could explain her entire situation in a short conversation. The horribleness of it all. Frankly, she didn’t know if she could even stomach that. In those next moments, Ikana found herself giving a clarifying thought.

"It hurts. When nobody cares about you. If you live or die. Or how you’re doing. But it hurts even more when you’ve had a taste of people that did. I don’t ask for much. I don’t think I’m a terrible person. Yet, I feel as if in a past life, I must have done something horrible.” In truth? She’d gotten past a lot of the old trauma, or at least, she told herself she did. Even if she was lying to herself, so long as she believed it, that mattered a lot more. Their suffering was similar, but it wasn’t the exact same. Ikana was a strange ball of contradictions. She wanted to be loved, held, and adored. Yet, at the same time, she felt as if she was too old for that now. Past that point.

She felt as if she wanted to be weak and vulnerable, but also didn’t trust the world or people to allow herself to be at large. She wanted to be powerful and great, but she didn’t really know why she desired those things considering she viewed life as purposeless and meaningless at times.

"I’ll accept your training, and I won’t complain about anything you show or teach me.” It was a promise she made to others that took the time to educate her. For Ikana understood that she probably knew nothing. Composing herself, she smooths her hands along her head. "...Should we get to know each other a little bit better? If I’m assigned under you now?”

[Sora Minami]

Well, it's a start. She thought as Ikana set her sword down, face still writ with confusion and that dull, listing lifelessness. The girl's response wasn’t the knockout Sora had hoped for, but it would do. For now, anyway.

"I know.” Sora said as the girl spoke, her smile waning into something similar to what Ikana had worn earlier, a wan, empty thing plastered onto her face, devoid of warmth or life or spark. She could remember those days, after her parents died, after her team had died, and so many years after. She had drawn herself into that dark, cold place of violence and hatred that, even now, lurked in the back of her mind. It was what made her so singularly brilliant at Kenjutsu, what drove her to get up when no one else could.

"I know, Ikana.”That was all she said. That was all Sora needed to say. The girl didn’t need or want pity. She didn’t need a person to swoop in and save her, to rescue her from the darkness and fix everything. Ikana just needed someone. Just one person who wasn’t there to berate or pity or "fix” her. One person who could look into that seething mass of pain and trauma and sadness and embrace the sad, scared little orphan girl beneath it all… without fucking whining about it.

"Getting to know each other seems like a good idea.” Sora said after a long moment, blinking away the weight that had settled beneath her gaze. There were more important things to dwell on than the pain they shared between them, even if it had built a connection. They could work things out later- for now, Sora was happy to have the girl talking.

"I suppose I should go first, being your Sensei and all. What do you want to know?”

[Miyamoto Ikana]

In truth? Ikana had wanted parents probably more than anything in the world. She’d had a taste of that once. In truth, when she saw children with their parents, praised, or cared about, or generally doted on? She’d been jealous. Envious. Ikana to some extent still desired that. Because she remembered for the first time when she was picked up when she was smaller. Held in someone’s arms, and that look on their face? The love felt so genuine. She didn’t care if it was real or not. God, she would have done anything and everything for that. The money she sent now and again to the Kyobona household showed that. However, it was true. Ikana disdained being looked down on.

Because she’d worked so fucking hard to get to this point. Until Ikana was asked. What did she want to know about Sora?

"...What are some of your hobbies?” Ikana wasn’t the best at small talk, but she found that it was a good opener. "Do you live in a house? Or an apartment?” Ikana found herself working day to day. Running a functional business, and at this point in time? She did have her own home. It was easy enough to get herself a cheap house. There was plenty of those after the death and destruction that befell the village. The population still hadn’t recovered from either of those conflicts. However, Ikana was aware at how much the village was changing. It felt fast for her.

"...Also. Favorite food.” Finding herself drawing her blade, swiftly, and sheathing it in a fluid motion, flicking the blade outward with her thumb along the guard, she was throwing fairly innocent questions all around. Though she was expecting questions thrown back at her at some point. "Also…What kinds of things can you train me in?”

[Sora Minami]

"I draw.” Sora replied to the girl’s first question, lips parting in a small smile at the thought of her last portrait. She wasn’t very good, barely better than a beginner, really, but the practice was… soothing. Like kenjutsu, but without the bloodshed. Each stroke of the pencil, every twist of the brush an elegant response to the things deep inside, an act of creation rather than the wanton destruction she had spent so many years of her life spreading.

"And I live in a house, thankfully. Recently purchased with my promotion bonus.” It was a big one too, bigger than even the apartment Kunio had lived in (still lived in, if she remembered right, though she hadn’t been to see him in years) when he’d recruited her into the Hunter-Corps. Seven rooms, three of them bedrooms (even if they were small), with two full bathrooms and a kitchen. It had cost a fortune, all of her Jounin promotion check and half of her savings, but she’d done it. Not just for herself, but the team she’d be fostering as well. No student of hers would have to live in some shit tenement just because they didn’t have anywhere else to go.

"As for my favorite food…” Sora began, trailing off as she ran her free hand up through her pink locks, suddenly nervous. Food had always been a bit of an issue for her, first with the sheer lack of it she had on hand when she was younger and then, once she’d become a Chuunin, the sheer lack of a desire for it. Her usual meal was a bowl of plain rice with broiled fish and whatever vegetables were on sale that day, a lean, sparse thing that kept her fed and healthy but had no flavor, no spice, no zest. She had never experimented with anything either, never sought anything else out beyond the basics. But for Ikana…

Well, she could try.

"I don’t really have a favorite food. I’m a pretty plain eater, honestly.” She chuckled at the statement, her small smile widening into something larger as the girl asked another, this time more pertinent question.

"As far as teaching goes, I can give a few Ninjutsu if you need them, but my specialty is Bukijutsu. More specifically, Kenjutsu.” She patted Samidare then, an affectionate gesture that was at once simple and intensely personal; she had carried the sword now for twenty years, and it was as much a part of her as her arm. Or her head. "I’ve something of a… talent for the blade, so I’ll likely pass what I can onto you as well.”

She paused then, skyblue gaze focused on Ikana as she gave the girl a moment to parse out all the information she had, and hadn’t, given her. There was a lot to read into what she had said, if the girl was paying attention. Which she likely was, but still. She had to test her, if only a little.

"And you? What are your answers to those questions?”

[Miyamoto Ikana]

"I don’t have too much time for hobbies. I train, I hunt, fish, or forage. I practice calligraphy. I’m usually busy managing a business and my duties as a Shinobi.” In truth? Ikana was surprisingly well educated for a girl her age. She worked quite a bit. She studied jutsu theory and participated in the market. However, she soon found herself asked what her favorite food was. She thought about it for a second before nodding her head. She knew her answer.

"Mizumen. With cucumbers, karashi, and extra boiled beef, and radishes.” A vinegary noodle dish with buckwheat noodles. It was one of her favorite foods, especially when the weather got hot. It was refreshing and it revitalized a weary body.

"...As for what I’m skilled in? I’m "okay” at everything. I’m nothing exceptional.” She instinctively lied about her true skills and abilities. Namely because it was always good to keep people guessing on how good one was. "Most of the things I know are self taught. As for where I live? A three room home. A living room and kitchen merged together, a bedroom, and a bathroom. I can’t say I’ve ever seen a house as luxurious as yours. Never.” That part was true. She didn’t have many close mentors or teachers, so she often found herself learning through observation. She danced with talent and skill, and she’d been working heavily in secret. As she prepared for her promotion to Chuunin, she knew that when she made it, she’d be able to show off everything. As she sought to advance her career and advance further in her life.

"...What questions do you have for me?” Ikana found herself in a more neutral expression instead of the fake smile she was more used to putting on. It didn’t feel good to be smiling all the time. It was a challenge for her, almost as much as thinking of things to be joyous about. Though that was because Ikana was a pessimist. It was the way she lived her life. Still? She was enjoying the good conversation she had now. Sora might be the first person to more deeply inquire about Ikana’s life. It was the first time she was sharing those thoughts out to someone. Even if the information was trivial.