[Ninjutsu][Bloodline][Genin][D Rank]
[Strength: 0][Speed: 0][Agility: 0][Endurance: 0]
Akio would find his way to the fine arts district of the leaf village. A place dedicated to....well....fine arts of course! He had just recently graduated from the shinobi academy and was ready to basically begin his brand new adventure. As such he also decided he would treat himself to a bit of a gift. He liked observing the different arts in the district of course. He was however quite fond of calligraphy though, thinking it to be very simple...but also very complex and skill based art. Akio was a young boy, quite young in fact. Around the age of fifteen. However when it came to thinks he loved he always invested himself in it and always sought any knowledge of it he could. The young boy walked along through the halls. Looking at each different thing he could. One by one, painting by painting sculpture by sculpture. All leading up to the calligraphy section of the building.
It had started only a few years ago. He hadn't even thought of becoming a shinobi then. He was attending a normal civilian school. His mother and father out almost all the time, although he did see his mother a bit more than he saw his father. Whenever he did see her, she always made sure to give him something. Material things obviously, stuff Akio didn't really need or want but would accept because he felt it would make her feel better about not being around much. One of these things was a ticket to a special art show. It was held here among the other pieces and contained pieces of art from all over the world. He of course attended it. When he arrived the art was wonderful. However nothing had drawn him in quite like the calligraphy.
Perhaps the calligraphy was even the reason he decided he would become a shinobi. He started to research it, find books about it, even practice it himself. Finding that many different types of people made such pieces of art. One such person was Sanae Uzumaki, the place that the section of the building dedicated to calligraphy was named after. He found calligraphy amazing, like it was a mastercraft among mastercraft. It required such concentration, such skill, deliberate motions and strokes and everything. Of course he knew the other arts required this stuff to. But to him not as much as calligraphy. Where a painting's mistake can be covered up. Claimed as part of the painting, difficult to understand, messy. Calligraphy had to be perfect, at least it did for Akio. There was no room for mistakes, you can't cover up the mistakes. You could only completely scrap it and try again. If you held your brush or pen on the paper in one spot for even a fraction too long it would ruin the piece, if your hand shook slightly the wrong way, if your concentration was lost, if it looked too messy. None of that stuff would do...it had to be perfect.
Akio thought about this as he wandered through the calligraphy museum. Eyes wide was marvel despite having seen each of these pieces of art perhaps hundreds of times at this point. His small arms locked around a very uniquely designed book holding it tightly to his chest, albeit not intentionally. He wondered if he would ever be able to accomplish something good enough to go up in this museum. Could he also have a section of an art museum named after him? He didn't know....and while he thought about it sure....he probably didn't care. So long as he could keep looking at calligraphy everything would be fine. A bright smile on his face that practically lit the room up. He would find himself leaving shortly after.
It had started only a few years ago. He hadn't even thought of becoming a shinobi then. He was attending a normal civilian school. His mother and father out almost all the time, although he did see his mother a bit more than he saw his father. Whenever he did see her, she always made sure to give him something. Material things obviously, stuff Akio didn't really need or want but would accept because he felt it would make her feel better about not being around much. One of these things was a ticket to a special art show. It was held here among the other pieces and contained pieces of art from all over the world. He of course attended it. When he arrived the art was wonderful. However nothing had drawn him in quite like the calligraphy.
Perhaps the calligraphy was even the reason he decided he would become a shinobi. He started to research it, find books about it, even practice it himself. Finding that many different types of people made such pieces of art. One such person was Sanae Uzumaki, the place that the section of the building dedicated to calligraphy was named after. He found calligraphy amazing, like it was a mastercraft among mastercraft. It required such concentration, such skill, deliberate motions and strokes and everything. Of course he knew the other arts required this stuff to. But to him not as much as calligraphy. Where a painting's mistake can be covered up. Claimed as part of the painting, difficult to understand, messy. Calligraphy had to be perfect, at least it did for Akio. There was no room for mistakes, you can't cover up the mistakes. You could only completely scrap it and try again. If you held your brush or pen on the paper in one spot for even a fraction too long it would ruin the piece, if your hand shook slightly the wrong way, if your concentration was lost, if it looked too messy. None of that stuff would do...it had to be perfect.
Akio thought about this as he wandered through the calligraphy museum. Eyes wide was marvel despite having seen each of these pieces of art perhaps hundreds of times at this point. His small arms locked around a very uniquely designed book holding it tightly to his chest, albeit not intentionally. He wondered if he would ever be able to accomplish something good enough to go up in this museum. Could he also have a section of an art museum named after him? He didn't know....and while he thought about it sure....he probably didn't care. So long as he could keep looking at calligraphy everything would be fine. A bright smile on his face that practically lit the room up. He would find himself leaving shortly after.