Tomaru observed his two teammates, Mai and Mina, as they prepared for the upcoming Chūnin Exams. Watching them train, he couldn't help but feel a tinge of concern. Becoming a chūnin was no small feat—it demanded more than raw talent or enthusiasm. It required experience, strategic thinking, and resilience in the face of danger. Tomaru knew this well, and in his mind, neither Mai nor Mina had yet reached that level.
Mai, with her energetic personality, was a fighter at heart. Her specialization in taijutsu set her apart from many of their peers. Agile and swift, her movements in practice were like a whirlwind: unpredictable and full of potential. However, potential alone wasn't enough. Mai's technique, while better than the average genin, lacked the refinement and precision needed to contend with more skilled opponents. Her punches and kicks had power but lacked the foresight of a seasoned fighter—the ability to anticipate, adapt, and exploit an enemy's weakness.
Her exuberant nature often worked against her. She tended to act impulsively, relying on instinct rather than strategy. In the Chūnin Exams, such impulsiveness could lead to disastrous outcomes. Battles weren't just about raw strength; they were tests of wit, adaptability, and teamwork. Mai's ability to shine in those aspects was, at best, inconsistent.
Mina, on the other hand, was the polar opposite of Mai. Where Mai was all energy and action, Mina was calm, analytical, and methodical. She had a sharp mind and an innate ability to observe and deduce. Her logical approach often served as a counterbalance to Mai's fiery enthusiasm, making their dynamic as teammates unique. Yet, when it came to combat, Mina's deficiencies were glaring. She lacked the physical strength and combat prowess to hold her own in a fight. Unlike Mai, who could rely on her raw power, Mina's reliance on strategy often left her vulnerable in direct confrontations.
Tomaru couldn't deny Mina's intellectual capabilities. Her knowledge of tactics, jutsu theory, and her understanding of the larger ninja world were impressive for someone so young. She could quickly analyze situations and offer sound advice, often pointing out details others might overlook. But intellect alone wouldn't carry her through the trials of the Chūnin Exams. Survival required a balance of brains and brawn, and Mina's lack of physical conditioning placed her at a significant disadvantage.
Unlike the Konoha 12, Mai and Mina came from civilian backgrounds. They didn't have the legacy of famous clans or the advantages of inherited techniques. In many ways, they were ordinary—a trait that both humbled and limited them. Their situation reminded Tomaru of Sakura Haruno's early days. Mina was intelligent and grounded, lacking emotional distractions but still unprepared for combat's harsh realities. Meanwhile, Mai's taijutsu skills gave her an edge over Sakura at a similar stage, but even that wasn't enough to guarantee survival against formidable opponents.
A chūnin wasn't just a fighter; they were a leader, strategist, and protector. They needed to think several steps ahead, anticipate threats, and make decisions that could mean the difference between life and death. Tomaru reflected on these expectations: mastery of ninjutsu, taijutsu, or genjutsu; tactical acumen; and a deep understanding of the ninja world's intricacies. Neither Mai nor Mina had yet developed these qualities to the degree required. They were talented in their own ways, but talent without experience was like an unsharpened blade—it had potential but wasn't ready for battle.
As Tomaru watched them train, a sense of responsibility weighed on him. They were his teammates, and despite his critical assessment, he cared for them in his own way. He knew the Chūnin Exams would be a harsh reality check for both Mai and Mina. Yet, he also understood that failure was often the greatest teacher. Perhaps this daunting experience would be the catalyst they needed to grow stronger. For now, all he could do was help them prepare as best as he could, offering guidance and support to ensure they had the tools to face the challenge, ready or not.
The training ground lay still, save for the staccato rhythm of footsteps and the sharp clash of strikes meeting defenses. Tomaru and Mai had been sparring since dawn, their movements casting long, fleeting shadows in the golden morning light. Each exchange was punctuated by Mai's labored breaths, her frame trembling under the strain of their relentless rounds. Dark bruises mottled her arms and legs—a testament to every failed block, every poorly timed dodge.
Mai surged forward, her jab aimed with precision at Tomaru's jaw. Her form was tight, her intent clear, but Tomaru deflected the blow effortlessly, his forearm rising in a fluid motion. His counter came immediately—a controlled palm strike to her chest that sent her stumbling several paces back. The impact forced the air from her lungs, but she gritted her teeth, steadied her footing, and pushed herself upright, refusing to fall.
Tomaru's expression betrayed no emotion. His breathing remained even, his movements unhurried yet undeniably precise. Every strike he delivered, every step he took, exuded a calm control that underscored his experience. It was the mark of a shinobi who had long surpassed the level of most jonin. In contrast, Mai's attacks, though relentless and passionate, lacked the finesse and adaptability to truly challenge him.
This wasn't their first morning spent like this. Since Mai declared her intent to take the chunin exams, Tomaru had pushed her taijutsu to its breaking point. Their sessions began long before the village stirred, and he showed no mercy. His strikes landed with the same intensity regardless of her exhaustion; he never slowed his pace, never softened his blows, and, perhaps most frustratingly, never offered her advice.
Another kick came Tomaru's way, and he caught it mid-air. With a practiced twist, he sent Mai off balance, forcing her to roll across the ground to avoid the follow-up. Dirt clung to her sweat-slicked skin as she sprang to her feet, a flicker of frustration flashing in her eyes. Yet Tomaru remained still, his sharp gaze impassive and unreadable.
It wasn't cruelty that made him withhold guidance. Tomaru's philosophy was simple: experience was the best teacher. For Mai to endure the trials of the chunin exams, she needed to recognize her weaknesses on her own. Words and instructions wouldn't foster the resilience and adaptability she would need. Every bruise, every misstep, every moment she found herself outmatched was a lesson far more valuable than any lecture.
Mai launched herself forward once more, her speed increasing with each step. She feinted high, masking a sweeping kick aimed at Tomaru's ribs. But he read her intent, stepping effortlessly inside her guard and delivering a swift strike to her stomach. Mai doubled over momentarily, pain tightening her features, but she straightened almost immediately, her determination unshaken.
The sun rose higher, its warmth intensifying as it climbed. Sweat dripped from Mai's brow, her movements faltering under the weight of fatigue, yet she refused to stop. The air around them buzzed with unspoken tension, the silence broken only by the rhythmic impact of her strikes against Tomaru's unyielding defenses.
Her attacks carried the fire of desperation, each swing of her fist a declaration of her refusal to fail. Tomaru, by contrast, moved with a composure born of dominance. His counters were swift, precise, and never overextended. He allowed Mai no openings, no reprieve.
Mai darted in again, her stance shifting mid-charge as she attempted to disguise her intent. She threw a feint with her right hand, her left leg snapping low toward his knee. But Tomaru was a step ahead. With a pivot as smooth as water, he evaded her sweep and countered with a sharp jab to her abdomen. The blow folded her, but she forced herself upright, her resolve blazing in her eyes.
Tomaru observed her carefully, noting every adjustment she made. Beneath the rawness of her technique, he saw potential—a spark of what could one day become formidable skill. But potential alone wouldn't suffice. The chunin exams weren't a place for hopefuls; they were a crucible. Even the smallest mistake could prove fatal, and Tomaru would see to it that Mai understood that truth before she stepped onto that stage.
The shadows around them shrank as the morning wore on. Mai's movements slowed, the weight of exhaustion evident in her every step. Her body bore the marks of their grueling sessions—bruises darkening her skin, her knuckles raw and bloodied—but her spirit remained unbroken. She charged at Tomaru again, her resolve a silent promise.
And so, their training continued, the clash of will and skill echoing through the clearing as the sun climbed higher into the sky.
Mai lay sprawled on the ground, her chest rising and falling heavily as she fought to catch her breath. The world felt distant, a haze of exhaustion blurring her surroundings. She barely noticed Mina approaching, her boots crunching softly against the dirt.
"Good job, Mai," Mina said brightly, crouching down next to her. Her voice carried genuine warmth, but there was a playful undertone to her smile.
Mai tilted her head, her half-lidded eyes focusing on Mina with effort. "If… you call not dying… a good job," she muttered between gasps, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Of course it is!" Mina chirped, reaching out to pat Mai's shoulder. "You're still breathing." She cast a quick glance at Tomaru, who stood silently nearby, his arms crossed and his sharp, dark blue eyes observing the interaction.
Mai let out a weak chuckle, though it quickly turned into a groan as she tried to shift her position. "I'm done. I can't feel my legs—or my arms. Pretty sure my soul left an hour ago," she said, flopping back onto the dirt.
Mina grinned, standing and dusting off her hands. "Can I borrow Tomaru for a bit?"
"Go," Mai croaked. "Take him. Take all the time you want. Forever, even. I'm staying right here until the grass grows over me."
Tomaru's lips twitched slightly, though he quickly masked it by adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. Without a word, he gestured for Mina to follow him.
Mai, still lying on the ground, turned her head just enough to watch as the two squared off. She let out a soft laugh under her breath, equal parts amusement and pity. "She doesn't know what she's in for," she murmured to herself, closing her eyes to rest.
Tomaru led Mina toward a secluded section of the training ground, where the forest provided shade and muffled the sounds of their movements. The faint rustle of leaves accompanied their steps as Mina adjusted the thin wire spools at her sides, her excitement barely contained. She had been practicing the wire-string techniques Tomaru had introduced a few days ago, eager to master the advanced jutsu he had shared.
The scroll Tomaru had provided detailed a series of techniques—Murderous Grasp, Wire Bind, and Wire Cage—collected from his encounter with a rogue ninja. They demanded an intricate blend of chakra control and tactical thinking, skills Mina had shown she was naturally inclined toward. Despite having only recently started practicing, she had already grasped the basics, her steady progress evident in the fluidity of her movements.
Tomaru leaned against a nearby tree, his arms crossed, watching Mina work through the techniques. A faint breeze rustled the leaves, carrying the sound of the metal threads slicing through the air as Mina manipulated them with focused precision.
Mina extended her hand, guiding a single, chakra-imbued wire to wrap around a wooden training dummy. The thread shimmered faintly in the sunlight, tightening with precision until it bit into the wood. Tomaru's sharp eyes caught the faintest hesitation in her control, the slight lag in her reactions. But for someone so new to these techniques, her performance was impressive.
Without pausing, Mina transitioned to the next exercise. She formed a rapid sequence of seals, launching multiple wires outward in a spiraling pattern. The threads wove themselves into a dome-like structure, encasing the dummy in a shimmering Wire Cage. Mina stepped back, studying her work critically. Though the structure was stable, Tomaru noticed weak points in the intersecting wires.
Mina seemed to catch them as well. She clenched her fists and exhaled slowly, committing the flaw to memory before releasing the jutsu. The wires collapsed and slithered back into her grasp like living things.
Tomaru watched in silence, his expression unreadable. He had no intention of intervening—Mina didn't need his advice. She was sharp, analytical, and determined to perfect her craft. Experience, he knew, would teach her far more than any words he could offer.
Mina moved on to the Murderous Grasp technique. Her hands worked swiftly, forming the complex shapes required to channel chakra into the wires. The shimmering formation snapped forward, striking the target with precision and carving deep grooves into the wood. But the recoil caused the threads to lose tension, and Mina frowned, already identifying the instability. She took a steadying breath and prepared to try again.
Tomaru shifted slightly, his gaze lingering on her. Despite the challenges, Mina was progressing rapidly. Her movements carried the quiet determination of someone who wouldn't stop until she mastered every detail.
After several more repetitions, Tomaru stepped forward, silently activating a kunai trap he had set earlier. A dozen projectiles flew toward Mina's newly-formed Wire Cage. The wires hummed as they deflected the kunai with sharp metallic clangs. However, the force caused sections of the structure to falter, and one kunai slipped through, grazing Mina's shoulder.
Mina winced but didn't falter. Her focus remained entirely on improving the technique. She dispersed the wires and immediately began forming the hand seals again, her chakra flowing more smoothly with each attempt.
"You're getting faster," Tomaru finally remarked, his tone neutral but carrying an undertone of approval.
Mina glanced at him, her green eyes alight with determination. "Not fast enough. The cage still has weak points."