Chapter 2: The First Spar
The moment Kohaku said “begin,” the world narrowed to the packed earth under Akari’s feet, the dry scent of pine, and the two boys facing her.
Tenma exploded into motion. No hesitation, no feints. Just raw, forward momentum that kicked up a plume of dust. He closed the distance to Shin in a blur, a sharp cry tearing from his lungs. “First strike!”
His fist was a piston aimed at Shin’s sternum. Shin didn’t dodge. He shifted his weight a micron, letting the punch graze his flak vest, his Sharingan already active, the single tomoe spinning slowly. He captured the motion, the torque of Tenma’s hip, the flow of chakra to his limbs. His own hand shot up, fingers aimed for Tenma’s wrist—the Gentle Fist, but held back, a warning tap.
Tenma yanked his arm back, spinning into a low sweep. Shin leaped over it, landing lightly. Their exchange was a silent, rapid percussion of blocks and strikes.
Akari stood frozen five yards away, forgotten. She watched the chakra. In Tenma, it burned a bright, chaotic orange, surging with each explosive movement. In Shin, it was a cool, precise blue, circulating with efficient calm, concentrated in his eyes and palms. She could see it without even trying. The sight was distracting, overwhelming.
Just fight. Don’t read. Just move.
She forced her focus inward, gathering her own chakra. She formed the ram seal, a basic clone technique. Two illusionary Akaris poofed into existence beside her. It was academy-level, but it was a start.
The clone distraction worked for half a second. Tenma, mid-kick aimed at Shin’s head, flicked his eyes toward the three Akaris. Shin didn’t even glance. “The left one,” he said, his voice flat.
He’d seen the minute chakra difference, the slight instability in the clones’ forms. He knew exactly where she was.
Shame heated Akari’s face. Of course he knew. He saw everything.
Annoyance flared, cutting through her anxiety. Fine. If clones were useless, she’d go on the offensive. While Tenma pressed Shin with another flurry of kicks, she darted in, not at Shin, but at Tenma’s exposed back. A simple disarming move, aiming to lock his arm.
Tenma sensed her. He abandoned his assault on Shin, dropping flat to the ground and scissoring his legs toward her ankles. Akari jumped, but his hand snapped out, grabbing her ankle. He grinned up at her. “Gotcha!”
He yanked. She yelped, thrown off balance. The world tilted.
Then Shin was there. Not helping her. Not helping Tenma. His palm tapped Tenma’s shoulder, a flash of chakra that made Tenma’s grip go momentarily numb. Akari stumbled free, falling hard on her side. The breath left her in a rush.
For a second, it was a chaotic triangle again. They scrambled, putting distance between them, chests heaving. Tenma rubbed his shoulder, the grin still on his face but tighter now. “Working together, huh? Is that it?”
Shin said nothing. His Sharingan was fixed on Akari, reading her chakra pattern, her breathing rhythm. He saw her frustration, her unspent energy coiled like a spring. Tenma followed his gaze, and something unspoken passed between them. A tactical understanding. The loudest weapon on the field wasn’t their fists; it was the telepath who couldn’t control her broadcast.
They moved as one.
Tenma came low, a dust cloud billowing in his wake, obscuring Shin’s movement. Akari pushed herself up, heart hammering. She couldn’t hear their thoughts—she was clamping down too hard for that—but she could feel the intent. A pincer movement. She was the target.
Panic, the old enemy, began its cold creep up her spine. Her mind instinctively reached out, seeking the safety of their thoughts, to predict, to know. She slammed the door shut. No.
Tenma was upon her. She parried two punches, the impact jolting up her forearms. He was stronger, faster. She ducked a roundhouse, the wind of it ruffling her hair.
From the swirling dust, Shin emerged like a ghost. Not attacking. Just there. His Byakugan activated, the veins around his eyes pulsing. He wasn’t looking at her defenses; he was looking through her, at the chakra points along her arms and legs, mapping her tenketsu. He was a silent, overwhelming threat, waiting for the perfect, disabling strike.
They were hunting her. Together.
The pressure was a physical vise. Her control, brittle at the best of times, cracked.
It wasn’t a deliberate technique. It was a scream.
A wave of raw, telepathic force erupted from her in a visible, shuddering ripple of air. It had no finesse. It wasn’t a mind-transfer or a communication. It was pure psionic feedback—a Yamanaka mind-bomb, driven by Uzumaki-scale chakra.
The effect was immediate and brutal.
Tenma, mid-punch, cried out as if struck in the skull. He clutched his head, his knees buckling. Shin’s perfect stance broke. He staggered backward, both his dojutsu flickering out as he raised his hands to his temples, a sharp hiss escaping his teeth. His analytical composure shattered into plain, stunned pain.
Akari didn’t escape it. The feedback loop caught her full in the face. White static exploded behind her eyes. She tasted copper. Her legs gave way.
Silence, thick and heavy, settled over the training ground. The dust slowly cleared.
All three of them were on the ground. Tenma was on his hands and knees, groaning. Shin was seated, head bowed, breathing raggedly through his nose. Akari lay on her back, staring at the vast, uncaring blue sky, tears of frustration and exertion leaking from the corners of her eyes into her hairline. Her head throbbed in time with her heartbeat.
From the shade of his tree, Kohaku let out a low whistle. He stood and walked over, his steps crunching softly on the grit. He looked down at the wreckage of his new team.
“Well,” he said, his voice dry as the dust. “That was unequivocally a draw. A very loud, very stupid draw.”
Tenma rolled onto his back. “What… was that? Felt like someone set off a flashbang inside my brain.”
“That,” Kohaku said, kneeling beside Akari, “was your teammate losing her grip. You backed a sensor-type with uncontrolled output into a corner. You got the predictable result.” He poked Akari’s shoulder. “You alive?”
“I hate it,” Akari whispered, her voice hoarse. “I just hate it.”
“The ability, or losing control of it?”
“Both.”
“Fair.” He stood and addressed them all. “Lesson one, learned the hard way. You are each other’s biggest liabilities until you learn to work with each other’s flaws, not just exploit them. Shin, your analysis is impeccable, but you used it solely to direct Tenma for a takedown. Tenma, you were so happy to have a direction you didn’t question the tactic. You turned her power into a weapon against her. In a real scenario, that little psychic blast would have announced your position to every enemy within a mile. You’d all be dead.”
He pulled a bento box from a pouch at his hip and sat cross-legged in the dirt between them. “Get up. Eat. You picked the lunch, Akari.”
She blinked, pushing herself up on trembling elbows. “I… what?”
“You were the last one technically conscious. You win. So, pick. Ichiraku’s? Barbecue? Your dad probably has a tab everywhere.”
The mundane offer, the smell of rice and fish from his open bento, was an anchor back to reality. Tenma sat up, rubbing his temples. “Ramen. Definitely ramen. I need broth. For my… brain-cells.”
A faint, almost imperceptible sound came from Shin. A sigh that was nearly a chuckle. He met Akari’s gaze across the dirt. There was no accusation there. Just a weary acknowledgment. We all lost. “Ramen is acceptable,” he said.
Akari looked from Tenma’s hopeful face to Shin’s resigned one, then to Kohaku, who was now eating with utter nonchalance. The shame began to recede, replaced by a deep, aching exhaustion and a fragile thread of something else. They were a mess. A glorious, powerful, dysfunctional mess.
“Okay,” she said, finally sitting up. “Ramen.”
“Good,” Kohaku said around a mouthful of rice. “We’ll eat. Then we’ll discuss your first C-rank. A simple courier mission to the Land of Tea. No thinking required. Just walking. And, Akari?” He pointed his chopsticks at her. “Try to enjoy the silence.”