Chapter 10: The Dominance of the Red Sand
I rubbed my thumb and index finger together, feeling the lingering warmth from where I'd grabbed Chiyo's calf. The skin had been slick with sweat and grit, the muscles beneath surprisingly firm.
"Nice touch," I muttered, a shark-like grin spreading across my face. "Seems you've been growing up well, Chiyo. But I wonder if your combat strength is as 'healthy' as your legs."
"You... you absolute pervert!" Chiyo's face went from pale to a nuclear shade of crimson.
"Die, you bastard!" Yome screamed, her voice hitting a glass-shattering pitch.
A black rain of kunai hissed through the air, aimed directly at my throat, chest, and—uncomfortably—my crotch. They weren't playing around anymore.
I didn't even blink. I stomped my right foot, flooding the parched earth with a surge of Chakra.
"Sand Style: Rising Wall!"
Fwoosh.
A slab of compressed sand erupted from the ground, absorbing the volley of steel with a series of dull thuds.
"So short-tempered," I chuckled from behind the barrier. "Careful, girls. Stress makes you go bald early. You'll be wearing wigs before you're twenty."
"The only one going bald is you after I rip your hair out!" Chiyo roared.
I felt the air shimmer. She was trying to weave another Genjutsu. I could feel her Chakra radiating outward, trying to latch onto my optic nerves.
Internal Monologue: She's good, but she's predictable. In the Sand, if you aren't using a puppet or a giant fan, you're probably trying to mess with someone's head. I've lived in this village long enough to smell an illusion before it even hits my brain.
"Terrain is everything, ladies," I said, my voice muffled by the sand wall. "In the Land of Wind, my Ninjutsu is basically free. Your Genjutsu? It's an uphill battle."
"How?" Chiyo panted, her voice coming from the left. "I didn't see you weave a single sign to dispel my Swirling Mirage. How are you tracking us?"
"Oh, that?" I stepped out from behind the wall, my fingers dancing in the air like I was playing an invisible harp. "Five-sense interference is great against rookies. But it's hard to deceive a spider who's sitting in the middle of his web."
I jerked my hands upward. Around the two girls, six crude, faceless figures rose from the dunes. They were lumpy, made of wet sand and clay, but they moved with a haunting, synchronized rhythm.
"Puppet Technique?" Yome's pupils dilated. She focused her enhanced vision, spotting the nearly invisible Chakra strings connecting my fingertips to the clay dolls.
"Not quite a Master yet," I admitted. "I don't have the budget for a 'Sasori-grade' masterpiece, so I make do with what's under my feet. They're fragile, but they make excellent sensors."
"You maintain active puppets just to watch your own teammates?" Chiyo asked, her anger being replaced by a chilling realization. "Who the hell are you looking for, Daimaru?"
"In the desert, everyone is a target until proven otherwise," I said coldly. "Basic survival, girls. Now, enough talk. Show me why the village hasn't retired you yet."
The dynamic shifted instantly. They were no longer bickering; they were hunting.
Yome took point. Her small stature became a terrifying advantage. She moved in a jagged, low-to-the-ground sprint, darting between the clumsy fists of my clay puppets.
Clang!
A kunai flashed in her hand, shearing through the knee of a puppet. She didn't stop to watch it fall. She was a golden blur, using her agility to minimize her profile.
"I'm not just eyes, Daimaru!" she yelled, sliding under a puppet's grab and delivering a palm-strike that shattered its core.
Meanwhile, Chiyo was the ghost in the machine. She held her folding fan over the lower half of her face, masking her expressions and breathing. It made it impossible to read her next move.
Internal Monologue: They're flanking. Yome is the distraction, drawing my strings thin, while Chiyo waits for the split-second opening. It's a textbook pincer. Too bad I wrote the textbook on being a nuisance.
Chiyo broke through the perimeter. She dodged a wave of loose sand I sent her way, ducking low. As I lunged with a jab, she snapped her fan open. A sweet, cloying scent hit my nose—the Chakra-laced medicine she used to anchor her illusions.
"Got you!" she hissed.
"Daimaru! Pay attention!" Yome's voice came from behind.
I felt a heavy impact on my ribs. Yome's punch lacked the weight of a heavy hitter, but the precision was agonizing. My body stiffened for a fraction of a second.
That was all Chiyo needed.
She coiled her strength into her legs and launched upward. Her knee caught me square in the chin with a bone-jarring crack.
I flew backward, the world spinning in a blur of blue sky and golden sand.
"Arrogant jerk!" Chiyo yelled, her voice filled with triumphant spite. "Taste the vengeance of the 'useless' girls!"
"Ouch..." I muttered, mid-air. I let out a low whistle. "Not bad. But did you forget the first rule of fighting a Puppet Master?"
As I tumbled through the air, my index fingers wiggled.
Six more clay puppets didn't just rise—they exploded out of the ground directly beneath the girls' feet.
Chiyo sneered, performing a mid-air horizontal kick. Crack-crack-crack. She shattered three puppets in a single, fluid motion. Her long, powerful leg was a blur of destruction. But as she went to shatter the fourth, her foot didn't meet crumbling sand.
It met a solid, iron-like grip.
The "puppet" didn't break. The sand fell away from its face, revealing my grinning mug.
"Wait... then who's—?" Chiyo looked up at the 'Daimaru' she had just knee-capped.
The figure in the air dissolved into a pile of lifeless silt.
"Body Flicker combined with a Sand Clone," I whispered, my hand tightening on her ankle. "While you were blinded by your own 'victory' mist, I switched. This time, it's the left leg!"
"Chiyo! Get out of there!" Yome screamed, charging in to save her.
"Mistake number two, Yome," I said, not even looking at her. "When a teammate is captured, don't rush in blindly. You just turn one hostage into two."
I flicked my left hand. An almost invisible Chakra string, reinforced with Wind Nature, whipped out like a lash. It wrapped around Yome's ankle mid-sprint.
With a gentle tug, the petite kunoichi tripped, her momentum sending her tumbling into a ball. Before she could recover, I caught her by the other ankle, hoisting her into the air.
"Game over, ladies," I said, standing there like a deranged circus performer, holding one girl by the leg in each hand.
The mischievous spirit of the 'Old Daimaru'—the brat who used to put scorpions in girls' shoes—resurrected with a vengeance.
"Time for the Daimaru Special!" I roared. "The Windmill Dance! Ho-la ho-la ho-la!"
I began to spin.
The girls shrieked as I swung them in wide, dizzying circles. Centrifugal force took over, turning their screams into long, trailing echoes. I spun faster and faster, my own feet digging a trench in the sand, until they were nothing but a blur of red and yellow fabric.
After three minutes of high-speed rotation, I let go.
They didn't fly away—I laid them down gently, but the damage was done. Chiyo and Yome lay in the sand, their eyes swirling, tongues lolling out of the corners of their mouths. They looked like they'd been through a localized hurricane.
"A pity," I sighed, wiping a bit of dust from my brow. "You couldn't handle a simple greeting from Lord Red Sand Dust."
"You... you monster," Chiyo groaned, the world clearly still spinning for her. "No wonder Temari hates you. You don't have a romantic bone in your body."
"Hey now, I was being gentle," I defended.
"You have a very strange definition of 'gentle,' kid."
I froze. That voice didn't belong to a Genin.
I turned to see Oto Kaze leaning against a nearby rock, arms crossed over his flak jacket. He looked like he'd been there for a while.
"Captain," I said, straightening up. "When did you get back?"
"Around the time you started making impolite comments about your teammates' physical development," he said, his baby-face split by a dark smirk.
"I was merely... assessing their combat potential," I lied smoothly.
"Sure you were." Oto Kaze walked over, nudging the semiconscious Yome with his boot. "I wanted to see if my three rejects could actually work together. What I saw was one wolf and two sheep trying to bite back."
"And the verdict?" I asked, my heart hammering. This was the moment. The recommendation for the Chunin Exams hung in the balance.
Oto Kaze looked at the horizon, where the lights of the Hidden Sand Village were finally beginning to twinkle in the dusk.
"The verdict is that you're a menace, Daimaru. But you're a menace with a plan." He reached into his vest and pulled out three scrolls. "These are the entry forms for the Chunin Exams in the Hidden Leaf."
He tossed them into the sand between us.
"You've got three weeks. If you show up in Konoha and lose in the first round, don't bother coming back to the Sand. I don't like losers representing my squad."
My breath hitched. Leaf Village. The Chunin Exams. The start of the apocalypse.
"We won't lose," I said, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl.
"We'll see," Oto Kaze said, turning toward the village. "Oh, and Daimaru? One more thing."
"Yeah?"
"Anbu just sent a bird. The Kazekage has summoned you for a private audience tonight. It seems your 'performance' on the border reached his ears faster than I did."
My blood turned to ice. A private audience with Rasa usually meant one of two things: a promotion or a shallow grave.
"Go wash the sand off, kid," Oto Kaze called over his shoulder. "The Golden Shadow doesn't like to be kept waiting."
I looked down at my hands, still trembling from the fight.
Internal Monologue: I wanted attention. Well, I've got it. Now let's see if I'm strong enough to survive it.
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[End of Chapter 10]```
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