Temari.
She stood across the training field, arms folded, chin lifted barely noticeably, a slight expression of contempt that carried more weight than outright derision. Her pigtails shifted in the warm breeze, and her eyes narrowed at Shira before turning fully on Isan.
"Don't break your back dragging dead weight, Isan.", she added, her voice dry and pointed.
Daiana's brows furrowed and eyes narrowed. Her jaw clenched, the corner twitching as if she were biting back a reply. The insult stung not just for Shira, but for all of them. They'd bled together, trained until their muscles screamed, and endured more than anyone else dared. Bonded not by words, but by grit.
Isan raised a hand calmly, stepping slightly forward, his expression unreadable.
"Nice to see you too, Temari.", he replied calmly.
"Don't worry, I'm not wasting time. Since he isn't a reject like you say he is."
Temari scoffed under her breath, her arms dropping as she passed them by without another word.
But she didn't walk far.
Instead, she found an open spot and began stretching, her movements precise and practiced.
That's when an idea sparked in Isan's mind. He turned slightly, smirking to himself as a light laugh escaped his throat.
"Temari.", he called.
She halted stretching midway, not turning but leaning her head just enough to look at him.
"What?"
"You said Shira's a reject,", he went on, voice casual but with a hint of goading. "but are you so sure? Maybe he'll surprise you."
As he spoke, his eyes drifted imperceptibly towards Shira, who met his gaze with a confused but resolute frown. The smirk, the confidence in Isan's voice, nothing escaped Temari's observation.
Her eyes narrowed. She knew that tone.
Something was up.
"You're really putting him forward?", she asked, this time turning completely to face him. "You know I won't go easy."
"I'm counting on that.", Isan replied. "Shira can handle it. Right?"
Shira hesitated only a moment before nodding firmly. "...Yes. I can."
"Good. What do you say Temari? A one on one?"
Temari studied him, her lips pursed slightly. She let out a quiet breath, that was part scoff, part amusement, then rolled her shoulders and gave a loose shrug. "Fine by me."
A short while later, the yard was nearly empty. The heat had begun to rise, and most trainees had not yet shown up for morning training. Isan and Daiana were the sole presences besides Temari, who stood across from Shira.
He moved stiffly at first, unsure.
His stance was wide, stable, but rough. Legs braced, arms up, fingers clenched too tightly into fists. His breathing was still coming in sharp gasps from the previous run, but his eyes… his eyes were fastened on Temari with a quiet fire.
Temari gave it one measuring glance and dropped into stance. Low, balanced, ready. She didn't underestimate opponents, but she didn't overestimate them either.
Daiana crossed her arms, glancing at Isan. "Are you sure about this?"
Isan didn't answer. His eyes never left Shira.
Then it began quietly and suddenly.
Temari moved first, swift as desert wind. A jab, then a low sweep meant to test him. But Shira shifted instinctively, side-stepping and forcing her to pivot mid-strike. He didn't counter, yet. But he didn't flinch either.
Temari narrowed her eyes.
The next exchange came faster. She darted forward, throwing a palm strike toward his chest. He blocked it with both forearms, the sound of the impact like stone on leather. Immediately, he responded with a fast, unexpected step forward and a rising elbow aimed for her chin.
Her expression flickered with surprise. He was faster than she had expected.
A second later, her leg shot out in a side-kick, aiming to create distance. Shira caught it, clumsily, but with enough force to throw her balance and pushed her back.
Daiana blinked. "He caught her kick…"
Isan nodded once, the smile gracing his face widening slightly.
The sounds of striking fists and shifting sand carried through the stillness of the yard, and, slowly, heads began to gather.
At the beginning, one group of students arrived early, then another. Whispers followed, murmurs of surprise and disbelief.
"Who is that?"
"Isn't that the kid who hangs around after hours?"
"Why is he fighting Temari?!"
By the time the first minute had passed, half the morning class had arrived and gathered, forming a loose circle around the impromptu match.
Temari now moved with more intent. She circled Shira, using feints and footwork to create angles. She knew she couldn't overpower him, his speed and strength were superiors, but she could outmaneuver him.
His form was raw, his footing sometimes uneven. It was clear that his physique was impressive, but he didn't have any train to put it into practice, or rather it looked like he did but it was short.
In other words, although he possessed the superior physique, he was too much inexperienced.
A quick glance to Isan was enough for her, before she returned her full focus on the match.
She darted in again, feint, step-pivot, low jab to the ribs.
This time, she connected.
Shira grunted and staggered. But instead of retreating, he surged forward, shoulder-checking her off balance. His fist came up, a hook aimed for her cheek, but Temari ducked low, rolled, and swept his legs.
He dropped like a stone, dust kicking up around him. But before the dust settled, he was already rising again.
With a guttural growl, he rolled to his feet and charged.
The crowd tensed.
Temari blocked a haymaker, countered with two fast palm strikes to his shoulder and chest, but his endurance made it feel like punching stone.
He didn't flinch.
Her breath came faster now, eyes flicking left and right as she tried to predict his next move.
Then she slipped behind him in a sidestep and delivered a knee to his back. He stumbled, and she capitalized, grabbing his collar and twisting, using his momentum to slam him into the ground with a thud.
He coughed once. Dust flew.
But he pushed up again. Slower. Worn.
And then...
A new presence.
Heavy footsteps. A familiar tension entered the air.
Baki had arrived.
He didn't speak at first. Just stood at the edge of the ring, eyes narrowed like blades beneath his brow. He watched the two combatants, the fatigue in Shira's shoulders, the sheen of sweat on Temari's brow, the stunned silence of the crowd.
Temari glanced toward him, just for a second, then looked back at Shira, who, despite trembling arms and bruised skin, was still trying to rise.
Baki's voice cracked like thunder.
"That better not be a joke."
Silence rippled through the crowd.
"You're not wasting my training grounds on childish dares, are you?"
Isan stepped forward slightly, back straight, voice calm. "No, Instructor. It's a serious match."
Baki's eyes locked on him, then shifted to Shira.
His jaw tightened. Not in annoyance, but in recognition.
The boy. The one who'd been denied.
Now here he was battered, panting, but still rising, fists shaking and eyes never once turning away from his opponent.
Baki said nothing for a moment longer. Then,
"Tch.", he turned toward the ring. "Five minutes. No lethal techniques."
A short pause fell in the training yard.
"Begin."
But no one moved. The fight had already begun. All that was left now… was the ending.
And everyone, Temari, Baki, even the onlookers were watching with new eyes.
Eyes that no longer saw a "reject."
But a fighter.