"From what Hatake tells me, your defect makes it a lot harder for you to keep up in a close encounter in comparison to a regular shinobi," he says, and I nod grudgingly.
"Now, I have no clue how to convert elemental chakra to regular chakra manually, and I don't even know if my old man could help you there. So we're not going to bother with your defenses. Instead, we'll be working on your offense."
...
Asuma pushes himself to his feet, reaching into his weapons pouches and pulling a pair of bladed knuckles. I'm reminded of the Suna nin from the third task, the one that had fought Samui's team. These aren't quite as jagged, though, consisting of a mostly flat blade with a few serrations along the edge. The grizzled jonin slides them on his hands, settling into a strange Taijutsu-boxing hybrid stance.
"You're going to want to keep working on that kunai exercise," he says, to my dismay. "I don't know a lot about the Dancing Fist, but I do know that it doesn't give the user many opportunities to attack. If you want to have a chance in the finals you're going to have to hit, and hit hard. Giving your wind a blade to mimic will make it cut twice as deep, so I expect you to have that down before the break is up."
He grins. "For now, let's work on pursuit. Half the battle with Uchiha is going to be keeping him close enough to interrupt any ninjutsu he tries, so I'm going to do everything I can to make space while you attack. If I retreat more than ten yards, you lose, and I get to attack." He waves his right blade in a come hither motion. "You can start us off."
I call a strand of wind to my left hand, which I form into a pressure burst, and lean forward into my Dancing Fist stance. I hesitate just before taking off, clenching my other fist, and after a moment of deliberation surround it with cutting wind. The current of chakra whirls along the edge of my knuckles, grazing my skin and leaving angry red marks in its wake.
"How long do I have to do this?" I ask, eyeing his blades. His grin sharpens.
"Until you can put me down."
"Great," I mutter. Ah, well. At least he's training me. I brace myself, shifting my right leg back, and burst forward towards the elite shinobi. As soon as I take my first step he leaps away, nearly clearing ten yards in one go, and I hurry to close the gap.
He lands on a low tree branch and I launch into the air, cocking my left fist back. He rolls back off the branch just before I hit, snapping the thick limb clean off the tree with the force of my pressure burst. He moves to melt into the forested area of the training ground, but I throw my right arm forward and urge the seething current of wind whirling around my hand to expand, pursue, and consume. The cutting chakra lashes out, tearing into the trees in Asuma's path and forcing him back into the clearing.
I cut the current with a grimace, shaking out my hand and peppering a nearby tree with my blood. Then I throw a gust of wind behind me and move to engage my temporary sensei.
We meet a few yards from the middle of the clearing, Asuma carefully steering us away from Shikamaru's immobile form, and wind clashes against steel as I rail against his blades. I flip a kunai out of my weapons pouch and slam it against his right blade, detonating the pressure burst gathered on its edge as soon as it makes contact, but the grizzled shinobi's arm doesn't even budge.
I duck under the swipe he sends at my head, juke away from the elbow aimed at my stomach, and throw my weight against his roundhouse kick. The sandaled foot hits my shoulder so hard I'm almost knocked clean off my feet, even with the pressure burst, but I manage to throw it back. For a split second Asuma's balance is disrupted, and a hole opens in his defense. I pivot, spinning and urging chakra to rush to my hand, condense around my knuckles. And cut.
I grunt. "I'll show you a hard hit." I lash out, and the cutting pressure burst screaming along my knuckles detonates.
Wind howls and I'm thrown off my feet, skidding along the dirt and rolling right over Shikamaru, who doesn't so much as take his eyes off the sky. I roll to a stop at the edge of the clearing and scramble to my feet, clutching my wrist and looking expectantly at where I'd hit Asuma. But instead of a downed jonin, all I see are the mangled remains of a log and some dying wisps of chakra smoke.
"Not bad!" His voice sounds off to my left. I spin around and find him leaning against a tree, arms crossed over his chest. "Might want to work on that backlash, though," he muses. I glance down at the hand connected to the wrist I'm clutching, covered from fingertip to palm in blood. I try curling my fingers and hiss as a spike of pain arcs up my arm.
"That wasn't fair," I accuse, glaring at the jonin. "I had you." He chuckles.
"Kid, if you don't think your opponent is going to pull out every trick in the book to make room in your fight, you're nuts. He might not be able to do the Body Replacement without hand seals, sure, but it doesn't take that many to begin with." He steps forward, settling back into his quasi boxing stance. "Now, I think it's my turn. Let's put that Dancing Fist of yours to the test."
I sigh, holding my mangled hand gingerly at my side. "This is gonna hurt."
It does.
It feels like years of pursuing the elusive shinobi in vain, and being pursued in turn, before Asuma finally straightens up out of his Taijutsu stance after slamming me into the ground one last time with an elbow to the temple. I gasp into the dirt, bracing my bloody right hand against the dirt and pressing my left against my forehead. Six paths save me, but my head is pounding. I clench my eyes shut and inhale a deep breath, pushing myself up with my cut hand, which had thankfully stopped hurting quite so bad after a few hours.
I get myself up onto my knees and then settle back on my heels, kneading at my aching head. A pair of sandaled feet step into my view, and the stink of cigarette smoke drifts by my nose. "Alright," Asuma says, exhaling his mouthful of smoke. "I think I've got a pretty good read on your abilities, now."
"And?" I ask between grit teeth.
"You've got some work to do, kid." I send him an offended look up through my bangs, but he just shrugs. "I know it's not what you want to hear, but it has to be said. Your Taijutsu isn't bad, all things considered, and that Great Breakthrough of yours is brutalizing when you get the chance to use it." He takes another drag and shakes his head. "The problem is, that's all you've got. No other Ninjutsu, no Genjutsu or Fuinjutsu, nothing. And that won't be enough.
"The Uchiha as shinobi excel at two things: Fire jutsu and close combat. The former because naturally strong fire affinities run in the family, and the latter because of the Sharingan and its ability to predict an opponent's movements to a tee." He points his cigarette down at me. "Your teammate is the worst possible opponent you could have pulled. He's your perfect counter."
My hands drop to my sides. My bangs, now bloodied by my right hand, fall over my eyes without my headband to hold them up. Asuma had knocked it off a couple hours ago with a haymaker to my head.
"Yeah, I know."
"Good." Another cloud of smoke wafts over me. "When you go into this fight three weeks from now, you're going to need to be a hundred percent aware of the advantages he has over you, and you're going to need to be prepared to take advantage of it when he underestimates you because of those advantages. You're the underdog here, kid, plain and simple." He flicks his cigarette onto the ground in front of me. "Are you up to this?"
I crack a grin. When was the last time I wasn't the underdog? "I'm up to it."
"Good," Asuma repeats, and turns away, towards the training ground's exit. "Let's go, Shikamaru. I heard a new place just opened up by the Hokage Tower that supplies shogi boards while you're waiting on your order. I'm thinking this is the day I win."
"Nah, I'm good."
The grizzled jonin halts at the stepping stones leading to the exit, looking back at my classmate in surprise. "You're not coming?"
Shikamaru, who still hasn't moved from his spot on the ground, shakes his head. "Mom shoved a big breakfast down my throat this morning." Asuma eyes my old classmate dubiously, but nods.
"Another day, then," he offers.
"Sure."
Asuma turns back and walks out of the training ground by himself, and after retrieving my backpack from over by Shikamaru I collapse into a cross-legged position. I pull out a thin roll of bandages from the front flap, the last of my stock, and survey the damages for the day.
I sigh. "I can't afford this shit."
...
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