To say Mizuto was having a bad day was like saying fire was hot. And, on this day, the fire was an inferno, a biblical storm of angst and depression. Mizuto sat on his couch in his one bedroom, one bathroom apartment, barely paid for by the meager wage he had accrued from a bit of work. Mizuto knew he was lazy, but he knew he was cut out for more than this. Ever since the Chuunin exams, held a few months ago, there had been something that was knocked into him from his fight and defeat with the girl from Konoha. It could have been embarrassment, it could have been hatred, but it had accrued and fermented over time. At first, he had combated the heavy feeling in his stomach with meditation, but the thinking just made him even angrier. He went over the battle and the slump that followed in his mind over and over, and it worsened the situation. Next, he tried a more direct approach, and began to keep company on long nights with alcohol. The drink made him numb, but it did nothing to forget.

Mizuto held his head in his palms, a migraine threatening to explode behind his skull. His end table was cracked and bloody, his weak punches hurting himself more than his target. The cool midnight air rolling in through a window forced a shiver to roll through his naked body, the only movement he had made for hours. "No", he said in a whisper even he could barely hear. "It's not me. It was never me." Mizuto raised his head from his hands, and his bloodshot eyes stared off into the kitchen. "How could it be me? They expect me to be the best, they expected me to win in that match. They did not think that I tried my best. There were extenuating circumstances, after all." Mizuto sat up off of the couch and walked into his bedroom. A flickering light illuminated the small enclosure, and Mizuto got dressed in his normal shinobi attire. However, holding his headband in his palms, Mizuto pored over the smooth surface. He was a sentimental man, and he could not find it in himself to leave it behind. He did not know what came over him, but Mizuto felt he needed space from the village.


392/600

Mizuto stood at the gates of the city, the only barrier between him and the desert outside, and with it, a new life. Thankfully, no one seemed to question a shinobi outside late at night with his traveling pack, as these comings and goings were hardly unusual. His gourd was still strapped to his back, while his pack hung to his side on a strapped bag.

Mizuto stood with his I.D ready, thinking of how he could get past the guard as only Chuunin or higher could travel alone. His identification painted him a Genin, so it was unlikely he would be getting out as a Shinobi. 'Hmm, but as a civilian, I am free to do what I like.' Taking his Hitai-ate off of his belt, he snuck it into his gourd. he would likely be searched before he could leave, but there is no reason to go digging through a gourd of sand.

~~~~
Mizuto had passed the gate guards rather quickly, as a quick search brought up nothing of interest to them. Mizuto did not carry any weapons, so he had little more than clothing, food and a sleeping roll. Looking back at the village as he stepped off the hard stone onto the soft sand, he knew he would miss this place. One day, when he was stronger and could do more for himself, he would return home.



625/600

[Exit Thread]