บท 32: Shuriken Jutsu
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With care not to disturb her, he carefully extricated himself from her embrace. She stirred slightly, a soft sigh escaping her lips, but did not wake. Standing, Ryomaru gently lifted his mother into his arms. Despite his young age, his training had gifted him with a strength far surpassing that of an average nine-year-old. He carried her with ease to her bed, the cool sheets waiting to envelop her warmth.
He lowered her gently, ensuring her comfort. As he pulled the soft, quilted blanket over her, he took a moment to brush a few loose strands of hair from her face. With a soft kiss to her forehead, a silent promise of his love and protection, he began to pull away.
"Stay," she mumbled, her voice thick with slumber. Ryomaru hesitated for a moment, considering the day that lay ahead. But the thought of starting his day away from Miori's warm embrace felt wrong.
"Alright, Mum," he responded, his voice barely above a whisper. Sliding back under the covers, he wrapped his arms around Miori, holding her close. Comforted by the rhythmic sound of her breathing, Ryomaru found himself slipping back into the realm of dreams, the first rays of dawn painting a serene picture outside the window.
The sun was high in the sky when Aoba called for the practical session. The scents of chalk dust and fresh paper were replaced by the earthy scent of the training ground, the ground still slightly damp from the morning dew. As the students gathered, the air buzzed with energy, filled with the thrill of practical learning.
Aoba, the stern woman who taught the class, stood before them. Her silver hair was tied neatly behind her head, her thin glasses perched precariously on her nose. "Today," she began, her voice ringing out clear and authoritative, "we'll be focusing on the basic Shuriken Jutsu."
She pointed towards the targets spread across the field, each marked with concentric circles. "You'll be graded on precision and control. Remember, it's not about power, but about hitting the target with accuracy."
Ryomaru found himself standing between Karui, a fiery redhead with a competitive streak, and Shiromi, a girl with wavy purple hair and delicate features who was more introverted. On his other side stood Tsubaki, a quiet girl with sleek black hair and sharp brown eyes, who was known for her studious nature. The girls offered him quick, friendly smiles but kept their focus on the task at hand, their childish crushes momentarily pushed aside for the seriousness of the training.
Across from him, Omoi, a boy with peculiar hair styled into a tuft-like ponytail, and Sasuke, a quiet boy with brooding black eyes, stood ready. They were all competitors, but there was a strong sense of camaraderie amongst them, a shared understanding of the journey they were all on to become proficient shinobi.
"Begin," Aoba called out, and the field erupted into a flurry of activity. Ryomaru could hear the sharp swish of shuriken slicing through the air, followed by the thud as they hit the targets.
Ryomaru reached for his own shuriken, feeling the cold metal in his hand. He focused, tuning out the sounds around him. With a swift movement, he released the shuriken. It sailed through the air and hit the target with a satisfying thunk, just off-center.
A small murmur ran through the class, a ripple of appreciation. Ryomaru was known for his natural ability and was often the one to beat in these practical sessions. But he didn't allow the applause to distract him; he simply reached for another shuriken and prepared for the next throw.
Karui, standing to his left, was struggling to contain her competitive streak. Her shuriken hit the target with power but lacked precision. She grimaced and shot Ryomaru a competitive smile. "You're not the only one with a knack for this, Ryomaru," she stated, her tone lighthearted yet determined.
Ryomaru chuckled, meeting her gaze. "I wouldn't expect any less, Karui," he replied, his words carrying an edge of friendly competition.
On the other hand, Shiromi, quieter and more reserved, managed to score a near bullseye with a shy grin. Tsubaki, with her sharp eyes, focused and released one shuriken after another with remarkable precision, her studious nature reflected in her measured and calculated movements.
Across the field, Omoi and Sasuke displayed their own skills. Sasuke, ever the silent one, impressively struck the target, his throws quick and accurate. Omoi, visibly nervous, missed a few throws but showed promise in his techniques.
The class went on, the field filled with the sounds of shuriken flying through the air and hitting targets, punctuated by the occasional cheer or groan of disappointment. As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, the students began to tire, but Aoba pushed them to continue, wanting to instill in them the endurance they'd need as shinobi.
"You're shinobi-in-training, not children playing a game," she reminded them, her tone stern yet encouraging. "True shinobi need stamina as much as they need skill."
Ryomaru wiped the sweat from his brow, squinting in the waning sunlight. The intensity of the training had not dampened his resolve; instead, it had sparked a fire within him. He picked up another shuriken, aimed, and let it fly, the sun's golden rays glinting off the metal as it sailed towards its target.
Karui, despite her earlier struggles, seemed to be catching up. She had found her rhythm, her shuriken hitting closer to the center with every throw. Her fiery determination was evident, and she wouldn't be satisfied until she outdid Ryomaru.
Shiromi, her soft expression focused, continued to impress with her quiet consistency. Even Tsubaki, who had been methodically placing her shuriken with precision, showed signs of fatigue, but she refused to give in, her determination clear in her sharp, intense gaze.
Across the field, Omoi was steadily improving, his throws becoming more precise with each attempt. Sasuke, as usual, was a study in focus and discipline. His shuriken hit their mark with impressive consistency, his black eyes hard and determined.
Aoba, watching them all from the sideline, had a small smile on her face. The students' determination and commitment were evident, each displaying their own unique blend of resilience, skill, and spirit - all qualities vital for a true shinobi.
"Enough!" she finally called, as the sun set, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. The students, sweaty and tired, looked relieved. "Clean up and rest. Tomorrow, we'll move on to the next technique."
As Ryomaru and the others picked up their shuriken and cleared the field, there was a sense of shared achievement, a mutual respect born from the day's grueling practice. It was clear they were more than just competitors; they were comrades, their individual journeys intertwined in their shared pursuit of becoming true shinobi.
The sounds of their banter and laughter echoed through the cooling air, a stark contrast to the intensity of their training just moments ago. The day had been tough, but the camaraderie and shared experiences they were building were undeniably worth every drop of sweat and every thrown shuriken.
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