Chapitre 27: CH_27

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———

Takuma stared at the result of his graduation examination's second attempt with his lips pressed into a white line. The red FAIL stamped on the paper glared at him— a sign of his ineptitude. Despite putting his life into training for the second attempt, he had yet again gained a second FAIL mark.

Takuma brought his hands to rub his eyes which had dark bags developing under them. He straightened his back and flexed his muscles, hoping it would relieve some of the stiffness, but all he got was pain. These days the only time he was comfortable was in his bed at night; even letting the back of chairs take his weight felt like sitting on hard stone.

He sighed. There wasn't a single person beside him who hadn't already passed at least one of the two attempts, thus securing their Leaf headband on graduation. Only his lonesome self remained. A terrifying position to be in. It felt like he was sailing in a small wooden boat in the deep ocean with a roaring storm causing natural disasters around him, just for him.

He felt sympathy for Uzumaki Naruto for being held back from passing because he couldn't perform one academy three— Bunshin no Jutsu (Clone Jutsu) for the whiskered blonde and Kawarimi no Jutsu (Substitution Jutsu) for him. Even when his late-night slogs of studying at his table had paid off as a passing grade on the pen-and-paper test— even when the taijutsu invigilator remark on his result had gone from 'slow, weak and unskilled' to 'needs urgent improvement'— even when his viva-voce had gone satisfyingly well (thank god for the absence of the kimono-clad bald old man)— he was still declared a failure because he couldn't perform a useless jutsu.

At the same time, he felt envious and even resentful toward Rock Lee, who had been promoted to genin without being able to do even one of the academy three because he caught the eye of a jonin. Were his own efforts any less strenuous than Rock Lee's? Was he not also pushing himself to the limit every day, pulling himself thin between studying, practicing chakra, learning jutsu, sharpening his close combat skills, and the tens of little things Maruboshi deemed every shinobi should know. Why did Rock Lee get to pass while the blade of a dead-end hovered above his neck?

Takuma folded the half-page and stored it on his person. Looking at the result only made him feel worse— he didn't have the time to feel worse; there was only one more month till the last attempt and the graduation itself.

He pushed everything he was feeling down and took out a chunky brass square padlock and a basic lockpicking kit wrapped in age-worn leather that was falling apart everywhere. Maruboshi had given him one of his old lockpicking sets so that he could practice cracking locks.

He breathed out and forced himself to calm down to focus on the lock in front of him. Maruboshi apparently had an extensive collection of locks he had collected through the years to familiarize himself with the types of locks he could encounter on missions. Maruboshi gave him locks as assignments to figure out and successfully open them, then the lock would be exchanged, and the cycle would continue.

"Oye, Takuma. You failed again, you dumbass."

Takuma had just put the tension tool into the key core when he heard the sneering voice of Hiji mocking him. Takuma wasn't surprised— annoyed, yes, but not surprised as Hiji had done the same when he had failed the first time. The Inuzuka mutt had paraded the fact that Takuma had failed in his face for a week before getting bored. Hiji was easily the most annoying person Takuma had met in both lives, and he genuinely thought the world would be a better place without him barking in everyone's ears, causing noise pollution.

Now, Hiji was back again. Takuma gripped the old yet sturdy and continued on with his silent shtick. If he was being honest, things had gotten much easier than before because Hiji was definitely on the ADHD spectrum— quite easy to get distracted. And after months of meeting the stone-cold wall that he was, Hiji had begun to lose interest, and when he did turn his rabid attention toward him, it didn't last long.

Today, he just hoped Hiji would go away quicker. He was too tired for Inuzuka's crap. From his peripheral vision, Takuma caught Hiji clicking his tongue and turning toward friends. Takuma hid a smile as he dipped his head closer to the lock. Now, it was only time before Hiji left him alone—

"Hiji, are you bothering Takuma again?"

Takuma jammed the rake pick into the back of the key core.

It was Okubo Momoe, the genius girl. The girl had a seemingly overflowing sense of justice, coming to the aid of those who could use her help, willingly providing it whenever needed.

'She thinks you're weak,' said a voice in the back of Takuma's head, making his eye twitch. Being considered weak was an unpleasant thought, and Takuma was no different.

"Didn't I already tell you to stop?" Momoe glared at Hiji with her arms crossed.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," said Hiji, making a face at Momoe. "This got boring; let's go somewhere else," he led his friends away, clearly avoiding Momoe.

Takuma gave a sincere nod of thanks to Momoe. She had been a lot of help in dissuading Hiji's annoyance since her presence made him walk away like just now. He then went back to his lockpicking.

"What are you doing there, Takuma?" Momoe asked, curiously peering over the lock in Takuma's hands. "A lock... lockpicking?" she said when she saw the tools in his hands.

Takuma nodded tiredly.

"Why would you learn that?" she asked.

"Uhm... what?" Takuma titled his head. He assumed that since Momoe was the genius girl, she would already know how to pick a lock. He was half-expecting her to help him with how to pick the lock. He asked: "You don't know how to pick a lock?"

Momoe arched her brows. "Should I?" she asked.

He assumed yes. Maruboshi had said that unlocking locks was essential if a shinobi expected to be stealthy on his mission. Every building had doors, and most doors had locks— especially the important ones. It didn't have to be doors; storage containers with complex locks and safety systems had to be picked as any attempt to break the outer container could damage the merchandise inside, or so Maruboshi had said.

"So you don't know how to pick a lock?" he asked again to confirm— that couldn't be; even he could pick poorly made locks; his classmates should know at least that, if not more.

Momoe shook her head.

Takuma was baffled. He couldn't wrap his head around it. Maruboshi had insisted that lock picking was a critical skill in a shinobi's arsenal and that he needed to start learning it as soon as possible so he could be experienced when the time came to use it on the field. And it made complete sense to him: what if he was on an infiltration mission and had to keep his presence hidden— busting down doors from their frames wasn't the way to do it. Why wouldn't a shinobi learn to lockpick?

It had to be important, or why else would Maruboshi ask him to devote time to practice lockpicking when he knew how vital the graduation test was.

"Do you want to learn?" Takuma offered. He thought if he showed her the bare basics, he could use the opportunity to ask her some questions in return. An equivalent exchange, he considered fair.

"No, it's fine," Momoe said. One of Momoe's friends called her, and Momoe turned to leave only to briefly turn back to Takuma to say, "You shouldn't waste your time on such things," she narrowed her eyes at the lock and picking tools. "You've failed twice; the next attempt is your last chance. You should really concentrate on more important things." She left after saying that.

Takuma was taken aback. He looked down at his tools, and the two FAIL results flashed through his mind. A seemingly all-knowing veteran shinobi and a genius girl who could do everything. Takuma shook his head off unnecessary thoughts and went back to lockpicking.

It was probably for the better she refused; he didn't think he had the energy to hold a conversation with someone.

It was going to be okay... he had a month... he was going to pass.

Takuma gripped his tools harder.

———

The moon had pulled the dark curtain over the sky, and the wintry winds brought down the cold shower of snow upon the village hidden in the leaves. The village was as cold in winter as it was hot in summer. People had already laden themselves in heavy wool clothing to keep warm, and the streets were emptier than in warm springs.

In a training ground on the village's periphery, a figure dressed in a shirt and shorts stood in front of a thick wooden post. The sturdy post was being tortured by kicks from the figure, who relentlessly, one at a time, drilled the front of his foot into the wood. A steady rhythm sounded in the mum night as a thin layer of snow covered the grass.

Takuma brought down his leg and waited for half a second before kicking the wooden post again. His open-toed shinobi sandals had seen better days as he rammed his foot into the same spot that turned white from the dark bark stripped away from the continuous kicking. But Takuma didn't care. He watched the spot in the wood, and then he watched his foot kicking the spot. And he repeated.

He didn't know what time it was. He didn't care.

Every man, woman, child, shinobi or not, genius or dead last, was given the same time in a day, no more. There wasn't nearly enough time in the day; he could only squeeze out the time he was given.

With every kick, a splatter of water would twist out from every part of his body in motion. Some of it was the water from the falling snow, more of it was his own sweat.

He wanted to stop; he really did. Every nerve in his body felt taut and burning. But keeping his mind on training was the only way to not think about the fact that tomorrow was the last day of the academy. And the day after that was the third and final attempt at the graduation exam.

It was strange. He had been in the foreign world for nearly a year, and he could remember every single day of that year— yet time had passed too quickly. It truly felt that it was only earlier this day when he had found himself in a stranger's body, in a room full of strangers. Time had slipped through his fingers like loose sand.

Why hadn't he trained harder? If he had only been training like he had been in the past month for the entire time, maybe it would've not come to this. Takuma felt his stomach twist into a knot, and his heart paced faster, not because of his physical exertion but of the crossroads he was standing at. He hadn't trained enough for this, he thought as his kick landed a little higher than the target, and a piece of bark splintered.

He raised his leg to kick the post again but found the leg betraying him. He fell down onto snowed on grass and felt a spikey cold against his burning body. He stared at the sky. He was hungry but too tired to muster any eat anything, and an empty stomach wasn't enough to keep him awake— he wanted to sleep in the training ground, buried by the snow.

But he couldn't. Takuma stood up and dragged his body away from the battered post that had taken all of his fears. He had given the last year of his life to this— he was going to see it through, no matter what the result.

———

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Chapitre 28: CH_28: Win

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———

Kibe gazed at his students sitting in a circle on the academy training grounds. They were chattering away as usual, like someone would sew their mouth if they didn't keep talking. He didn't stop them like he usually would— it was their last day as academy classmates after all. He was sure they were excited to leave the academy and finally gain their forehead protector, marking them as shinobi of the village hidden in the leaves. But he knew they would look back at their academy days with a past yearning, hoping they would have cherished the simpler times more, and enjoyed living in this time more.

Next week, they would receive their graduation scrolls along with their forehead protectors and their assignment details. Kibe wondered how his class would be divided into teams. He had given his recommendations and reports, but the decision wasn't in his hands. The selection committee from the Leaf Genin Resource Command would finalize the assignments.

Ah, how long had it been since he had last met his teammates? They were inseparable once, staying together the entire day— training, missions, eating, laughing, playing, crying, they did everything together. But then one of them got promoted, and the four-man cell became three people. They were still an official team on record, they still met regularly and even went on missions, but it wasn't like before. Then they started to go on missions with other teams that had one member promoted. A four-man cell wasn't a standard for just any reason. That split them every more. More promotions followed, and time spent apart increased further. And it ended with their sensei officially disbanding their team, as it happened to every jonin-led team that began right after the academy. After that, they were a team only in spirit or when their exact configuration suited a mission.

Now, it had been years since they had been on a joint mission. Not after he had taken the instructor position at the academy, away from active field duty. He didn't think he would return to active duty until it was mandated— his girlfriend wouldn't like it if he did. Neither was he going to remain as an academy instructor; he would move on eventually; the rules would make him. Academy instructors had to be younger than a specific age limit so they could be closer in their age to their students; when that age gap increased, it was time for a younger instructor who could connect to the young children to step in. He, himself, had already started to prepare for interviews for administrative departments that he would attempt in a couple years.

He raised his clipboard with sparring plans he had drawn for the week. It was the last day, and the kids had complained, but it was to be done. He scrolled his eyes over the list and found that only two names remained. It was going to be the last spar of the final year class.

Kibe narrowed his eyes as he called the names: "Aimi and... Takuma, come up."

Aimi, the ball of never-ending energy, skipped to the center of the sparring circle; no weather could slow her down. On the other hand, Takuma was opposite in his trudge from his spot, dragging his feet through the snow.

Kibe examined Takuma. His weakest student looked worse for wear; he had looked so for the past couple of weeks. Dark circles under the eyes, unkempt hair, and a general feeling of fatigue. He didn't know the reason, he hadn't asked, but he could guess— after two fails, he would look like Takuma, if not worse.

Two fails, Kibe sighed. Takuma had never been a bright student; calling him an average student would be an over-exaggeration, for he had consistently been in last place from year one. But this year, Takuma had taken a dive for the worse. If he was bad before, he was the worst now. Not a single thing about him expressed a shinobi academy student.

Things changed through the year. Takuma had shown progress on all fronts, consistently performing better than before. He could hit targets now, last in spars for much longer, and even perform jutsu— something that had shocked him the first time (and the only time) he had seen it, through a look at his graduation test results showed the ability to perform Henge no Jutsu (Transformation Jutsu) and Bunshin no Jutsu (Clone Jutsu). It also showed an above-average performance in theoretical knowledge.

'He should be able to pass if he can just do Kawarimi no Jutsu (Substitution Jutsu),' Kibe thought. The result wouldn't be spectacular, but it would still be a pass— that should be enough for Takuma.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Yes!" said Aimi. Takuma simply raised his hand to form the seal of confrontation.

"Start," Kibe declared, and Aimi immediately ran forward.

It took her no time to cross the distance, and she swung for Takuma's head. Takuma leapt back to evade, but Aimi was faster, and it was already too late to dodge. Aimi's fist closed in, but her blow crashed against Takuma's raised block at the last moment.

Takuma was on the defensive and had to dance backward to avoid getting clobbered. Aimi was a slender girl but fast. Her follow-up attacks pushed all the way to the edge of the ring, close to forcing him out.

Kibe got ready to end the fight; getting out of the circle was an instant loss. Even the kids behind Takuma got ready for him to be pushed out by Aimi as they moved aside to clear the way.

But then, like a quick snake, Takuma struck Aimi's arms and shoulders in succession, breaking any upper body momentum and balance she had. It happened fast as Takuma lurched his arms forward to grab Aimi's clothes and then roughly pulled her forward as he used his feet to pivot out of the way, sending an out of balance Aimi stumbling towards the edge of the fighting circle.

Kibe's lips parted, and his eyes widened a fraction. He had just seen Takuma baiting Aimi in an effort to push her out of the circle when she thought she was doing it to him. Unfortunately, Takuma was hasty in his move as the nimble Aimi regained her balance, albeit on the very edge of the boundary. She immediately put herself a distance from the edge, all the while shooting a startled look at Takuma.

Takuma lowered his body as he leaned forward and mimicked Aimi's steps as she moved in the circle, shortening the distance between them a bit with every step.

'... He's going on offense,' the thought struck Kibe like a bucket of water on a sleeping man. It shouldn't have been surprising, but he had never seen Takuma on offense, not once. The poor boy spent his time in spars running, dodging, and blocking. It would continue until Takuma's opponent had him surrender.

On cue, Takuma launched an attack of his own. He thrust at Aimi, and the girl turned, avoiding the strike. Takuma darted forward, whipping his leg into a side-sweeping swing that would crash into Aimi's exposed back, but she whirled, blocking the strike, and with her near arm she threw an elbow toward Takuma's temple.

Takuma reeled back, disengaging at his quickest, and skipped out of Aimi's range.

Aimi gave herself a moment to catch herself before pushing forward, attacking Takuma's shoulder, leg, and arm. Takuma blocked each attack while moving in circles.

Kibe thinned his lips. Aimi was one of his agile students; she was nimble, flexible, and quick on her feet, allowing her to run circles around her opponents, getting in quick hits that annoyed them, causing them to act brashly, which Aimi would then exploit. But the girl's skill in taijutsu didn't allow her to effectively use her gifts. Her choices of targets were poor and often poorly timed, wasting away precious opportunities and opening her to counter offense.

Aimi lurched into a lopping attack. Takuma blocked. His arm was inside Aimi's arm and Takuma lifted up and away, moving Aimi's arm out of position, leaving her unable to defend as Takuma brought his fist down on her shoulder. Aimi cried out and darted back, but not before Takuma attacked again, smashing his kick into Aimi's upper arm.

Aimi yelped and jumped several paces back. Takuma followed immediately, stabbing his first that would gut her, but Aimi pushed herself out of reach. She was faster, after all.

Kibe glanced at Takuma to see if he was frustrated at the opportunity to finish Aimi off, but the boy had his dark eyes trained on his opponent. It was a look of sheer focus.

Aimi growled, her face all bunched up, and launched herself forward with every intent to attack.

Takuma held his ground, his eyes hadn't Aimi since the start of the fight. He pulled his leg back and kicked the ground, sending a pile of snow toward Aimi.

"Sensei!" one of the students yelled.

"Shut up!" Kibe silenced, his eyes stuck to the fight.

Aimi eeped, bringing her face up to her face. Takuma moved. He drilled a low kick into Aimi's knee, causing her to cry and lean down. He grabbed the smaller Aimi and threw her over his shoulder, thrashing her into the ground. Aimi tried to roll away, but Takuma planted a kick into her stomach. He then stood over and leaned down with raised first to pummel where she lay.

Kibe saw Aimi curl up into a ball and knew it was the end. He called.

"Stop!"

Takuma stopped and then staggered back. His heavy breaths fogged the air as he looked down at Aimi with wide eyes.

Kibe looked at the weakest student in his class and said, "Winner... Takuma." He had said that for the first time, and it indeed felt strange.

There were no cheers in support or clapping that happened at the end of every spar. There wasn't a peep from the students as all of them watched the result in front of them. Takuma standing, his opponent on the ground— not the other way around.

Kibe stepped forward. "Get up, Aimi," he said.

The girl got up but kept her eyes down at her feet, not daring to look up. Perhaps too ashamed to have lost against Takuma.

"Seal of Reconciliation," Kibe ordered.

Aimi, with her head down, raised her hand with her index and middle finger out. But Takuma's hand didn't come. She snapped her head up, anger twisting her expression.

"You—!"

She didn't continue with her eyes widening. Takuma had his head raised up, his palms covering his eyes. His shoulders shook silently.

Aimi's face went from anger to surprise to concern. She joined her hands in front of her chest and stepped closer to Takum.

"H-Hey, are you alright—"

Aimi couldn't complete her sentence as she was suddenly pulled into a hug by Takuma. The taller boy completely enveloped the smaller girl as she eeped in shock.

Kibe looked at the weakest student in his class... who, on his last fight, on his class' last fight... had secured his first victory.

"H-H-Hey, you won, you know," Aimi's muffled voice sounded out from Takuma's chest as her arms stroked Takuma's back. "I know I'm great, but you shouldn't cry about it."

A chuckle escaped him.

Kibe looked at the.... He looked at Takuma and hoped the boy would show a similar performance tomorrow when it truly mattered.

———

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