The silence continued even after the fight ended.
Shira was still positioned on one knee, struggling to catch his breath and panting as if he had just sprinted through a fierce and grueling race, his shoulders rising and falling like a smith's bellows, hot and ragged with effort. Sweat beads cascaded down his face, merging with the dirt that was smeared across his cheek, creating a visage that was dirty yet radiated a sense of determination.
His fists were still tightly clenched, stubbornly refusing to relax or unclench even for a moment. The skin covering his knuckles had burst open, revealing raw flesh beneath that was caked with grit, sticking stubbornly to the wounds, while his entire body trembled violently from the immense force of effort exerted and the overwhelming rush of adrenaline surging through his system.
Temari loomed over him, equally winded. She huffed out a breath and pushed a hand through her tangled hair, knocking a speck of dust from her shoulder.
"You hit harder than you look.", she grumbled, loudly enough for Shira, and everyone else, to hear. Her voice was dry, but it did not have its normal edge to it.
Then she turned around and walked off without another word, head held high… but not before throwing a glance over her shoulder.
The student group that had gathered slowly began to disperse, the buzz of hushed conversations filling the air. No more jeers. No more sneering comments. There were no cheers either, but the silence was now different.
A few of the students exchanged uncertain glances. One of them muttered under his breath, "That wasn't supposed to happen…"
Another frowned. "He's not even enrolled."
Daiana elbowed her way to Shira's side, kneeling down beside him. "Hey.", she said softly, holding out a water flask. "You still with us?"
Shira nodded wordlessly, drinking long swallows, his chest still heaving.
Isan crept up, his hand extended.
Shira look at him for a brief second before smiling and gripping it tightly, while Isan returned the smile and help him up.
Later That Morning
The group had dispersed. The sole sound of continuous drills in the distance echoed through the yard. Baki remained standing, arms folded, his face unfathomable.
He didn't say anything as Isan walked by, prepared to go back to the rest of the class, until:
"How long?", Baki asked, voice low, flat, and clearly purposeful.
Isan halted in his steps and his throat tightened.
He hadn't expected this.
The fight was meant to be so that Temari would acknowledge Shira. The Kazekage's daughter, regardless of how ice-hearted and distant her father was, her acknowledgment and recognition would mean something, no matter how little it may be.
He hadn't meant for it to go that far. Yet the crowd's whispers, Temari's silence, and Baki's stare told him it had already gone further than he'd wanted.
"A few weeks.", he said reflectively, pausing for a moment to carefully choose his words, giving himself the time to slow down his breathing in a conscious attempt to calm himself and collect his thoughts.
"We've been working in the mornings, before Academy hours, and also after the Academy."
Baki grunted.
"That long... you've been holding out."
Isan met his gaze.
"I didn't think it was worth your attention, sir. Not until now."
Another grunt. This one… softer. Not dismissive.
Approving.
Baki's eyes shot to the spot where Shira had fallen and risen, repeatedly. The sand there still looked disturbed. A crater left in the aftermath of a struggle.
Then he diverted his attention and focused once more on Isan.
"Next week.", he said. "Bring him again."
Isan blinked. "To spar?"
Baki did not smile. He hardly made any movement whatsoever. And with that, he turned and walked away.
As the day wore on, the desert sun had dipped to a lower point, causing the formation of long amber shadows that stretched elegantly across the training yard. Following extreme heat throughout the day, the stifling heat had finally started to abate, giving way to a soft, dry breeze that gently rustled the thin canvas of the shade cloths set above in their secluded nook, offering a brief respite from the searing heat.
Shira found himself perched upon a low stone wall, his shirt removed and absent, revealing a torso marred by a patchwork of bruises that told stories of pain and struggle. His right shoulder appeared notably swollen, a consequence of a particularly unfortunate fall he had taken recently, and a deep gash that ran along the side of his body had finally ceased its relentless bleeding.
Unlike the times before, the silence enveloping him was not oppressive or burdensome on this occasion. Instead, it radiated a sense of calm and tranquility. It felt peaceful, like the stillness that settles in the air between the chaos of battles.
Daiana kneeled gracefully in front of him, working studiously to dip a soft cloth in a bowl of cool water and wring it out with a silent competence that spoke volumes. Her normally acerbic attitude, which, more often than not, gave their interactions a lighthearted banter, was noticeably absent here.
There were no teasing barbs or half-mocking blows exchanged between them; there was only an aura of concentration. There was a certain tenderness in her actions, and a softness in her forehead as she gently applied the wet cloth to the gash on his ribs with a gentle pressure.
He flinched but did not draw back.
"You should've guarded better.", she said.
Isan stood with his back against the nearby wall, his arms crossed, observing both of them. His canteen swung free from his hand before he moved forward and gave it to Shira.
"Now they've seen it too.", he said, his tone calm.
Shira took it, drank slowly, then nodded. "Thanks."
A prolonged silence enveloped the space between them, creating a heavy atmosphere that lingered. "For a moment,", Shira said, his voice rough and low, "when they were watching me… I didn't feel invisible."
Neither of them provided an immediate response without taking a moment to think.
Daiana wrapped the last of the bandages with careful attention and then rocked back onto her heels, taking a moment to catch her breath. As she glanced at him, it was clear there wasn't any hint of pity in her expression; instead, it was filled with a profound sense of recognition and understanding.
"You were never invisible.", she said. "They were just blind."
Shira chuckled softly, yet his gaze wandered toward the sinking sun. For a while, he was silent. His shoulders relaxed, tension finally unraveling from deep inside. His hands, which still shook slightly from the battle, tightened and then relaxed.
The following morning
The training yard was asleep when the three of them got there. The sun had not yet risen over the stone spires of Sunagakure, and a faint orange light just began to seep over the rooftops. The sand was cold underfoot. The air, for a change, crisp.
Shira dropped to the ground, swinging a pair of patched sandbags over his shoulder, double the load he had previously trained with.
Every lap prints deep boot-marks in the yielding dune face. His breathing grew hard, but his stride was never broken.
On the farthest end of the large training field, Isan and Daiana were persistently going on with their respective routines. Isan was doing some light chakra control exercises, concentrating hard on perfecting his methods, while Daiana was actively polishing her hand seals, ensuring that every motion was exact and efficient.
A man leaned against one of the outer archways overlooking the training yard. His clothes, a flak vest and the hitai-ate stitched to his sleeve, marked him clearly: a chūnin.
He didn't say a word. Simply watched with crossed arms, his dark eyes periodically darting from Shira to Isan and Daiana, then back again.
"Recognize him?", Daiana asked, voice low.
Isan shook his head. "No. But he's been standing there for a while."
The man continue silent for a bit, then, without any fanfare, he pushed off the wall and walked down the ridge toward them, hands in his pockets, posture casual.
"There's still a considerable way to go in unranked training.", he said, speaking in a tone that was dry but lacked any derision. "What's the plan here, exactly? Trying to beat the pace of the Academy curriculum?"
Shira had stopped moving, his chest still rising and falling with effort. He looked up slowly but said nothing.
Isan stepped forward. "Not really a plan. Just… effort."
The chūnin nodded once, scanning the bruises, the weights, the dirt-crusted sandals. His eyes rested on Shira a fraction of a second longer.
"I heard something about a street kid going toe-to-toe with Temari.", he said. "Figured I'd see it for myself. People exaggerate."
Daiana raised an eyebrow. "You spying on kids now?"
"Spying?", The man snorted. "Nah. Just watching potential."
He turned to go but stopped a few steps away, glancing back over his shoulder.
"Baki's not the kind to praise. So if he told you to keep going…", His voice trailed off, then returned, quieter. "Maybe you should."
And he left, becoming no more than a brief blur of quick movement as he disappeared into the twisting sandstone passageways of the village, leaving behind an aura of mystery.
Shira remained motionless for a moment, seeing him disappear.
"…Was that good?", he asked.
Isan breathed out quietly. "Yeah. That was good."