The scent of the training yard was as familiar as the weight of a kunai in the hand: the dry bite of hot sand; the faint metallic tang that clung to the air around the kunai and shuriken targets; the chalky dust of the sandstone walls; and the stale sting of sweat baked deep into the grain of the old wooden training posts. Every smell was sharpened by the heat.
Isan adjusted the wrap on his right wrist, pulling the knot tighter until the cloth bit lightly into his skin. The linen was fraying at the edges, stiff with dried sweat, but it kept the skin from tearing during drills.
Nearby, Shira sat cross-legged in the sand, shoulders heaving, his clothes clinging to him with sweat. He tugged at the hem of his tunic to straighten it before running a hand across his brow, flicking away the moisture.
Behind them, the academy gates groaned open, letting in the first trickle of students. Temari was among them, hair already bound into those sharp, four-point pigtails, a wooden practice fan slung over her back.
Daiana arrived next, rubbing her eyes with one hand, the other clutching a small cloth pouch - probably holding bandages, salves, and whatever else she'd managed to get from the infirmary. Her dark hair was still damp from a rushed wash, plastered to her cheeks. She caught Isan's eye briefly, then looked away, scanning the yard with a blush coursing her cheeks.
The courtyard began to swell with movement as more students filed in. The air was filled with the shuffle of sandals over stone and the murmurs of morning greetings until the instructors emerged.
Three chūnin, all in long desert cloaks with hoods shadowing their faces, took their positions at the front, they were following right behind Baki. The moment Baki stepped forward, the noise died at once.
"Line up!", His voice cracked across the yard like a whip. "We are starting."
Morning Drills
"Dunes! Move!"
The command ripped across the yard, and the third-years surged toward the outer wall like a wave.
The first step into the loose sand stole momentum; every step after was a battle. Sand shifted treacherously underfoot, soft and deep, swallowing half a stride and forcing the muscles in their legs to work twice as hard. The cold bite of the early air burned in the lungs, but it didn't last, soon the heat began to press in from above and radiate up from below, an oppressive weight on skin and bone alike.
Temari kept a precise, efficient pace ahead of Isan, her strides measured, wasting no motion. Daiana started slower, her breath coming through her nose in tight control, but her determination steadied her pace until she found a rhythm.
Shira didn't pace himself at all, he exploded forward. For the first hundred meters he was well ahead of the others, his feet kicking up rooster tails of fine sand. But the dunes ate at that speed, dragging him back. Even then, his jaw stayed locked, and he never slowed below a run.
Push-ups followed, the sand scalding under palms as the sun climbed higher. Then came wall climbs, bare hands gripping rough sandstone edges, fingertips catching in shallow cracks. The walls tore at skin until knuckles bled and forearms screamed in protest.
By the time the whistle blew, the air shimmered with heat waves dancing above the courtyard stone.
Chakra Control
After a brief period of rest where they mostly used it to refresh their bodies and drink some water, the class stumbled back into the courtyard, the instructors split them into groups. Everyone practiced leaf balancing in the shade, everyone, that is, except for the five names the instructors called forward.
"Isan. Temari. Daiana. Maiku. Rinda."
The sound of their names pulled eyes from every corner of the yard. The distraction cost some students their concentration; leaves slipped from foreheads and fluttered to the sand, earning sharp reprimands from the supervising instructor.
The chosen five were led to the base of the east wall. The instructor's tone was quieter here but heavier.
"This technique is not for play. Misuse it and you'll learn what broken ankles feel like."
Without further warning, he made a single Tiger seal with one hand, eyes closing briefly in focus. When they opened again, he strode toward the wall, placing a foot against the vertical stone, and walked upward as though it were level ground.
Wall walking. A far cry from leaf balancing, this demanded absolute precision. Too much chakra and you'd splinter the surface, losing footing; too little and you'd slip outright.
The precision and concentration it would take, of course, exceed that of the leaf concentration exercise.
What followed were a few moments of the five of them repeating the instructor actions, from closing their eyes to make the hand seal, in a way to concentrate chakra in the soles of their feet.
Temari stepped forward first. She climbed with confidence, sandals sticking perfectly with each step.
Isan followed, slower but steadier. He pulsed chakra into his feet in measured amounts, each adjustment sending feedback up through his calves into his spine. His gaze never dropped; there was only the wall and the next step.
Daiana made it halfway before her chakra output faltered. She kicked off to land lightly in the sand, muttering frustration under her breath before immediately setting herself to try again.
Rinda slipped almost instantly, falling backward into the sand with a sharp yelp, while Maiku barely made it past the first step before his sandal slid and his face slammed into the wall with a dull thud.
Ninja Theory & Weapons
After a midday break for lukewarm water and dry rations, they filed into the Academy's cool, dim classrooms. Ninja theory was relentless, just as much as the physical training - numbers for supply calculation drills, maps for tactical positioning, and dates of major battles burned into their memories. After all, information gathering and intelligence was a major part of the ninja composition, it could never be left out.
Weapon practice was next. Targets of straw and wood lined the far wall. The desert wind made every throw unpredictable. Kunai sailed just wide; shuriken curved mid-flight, caught by invisible fingers of air. Isan adjusted his stance and let the wind guide his aim rather than fight it. His blade sank into the target's center with a dull, satisfying thunk.
Essential Jutsu
The final block of morning training was devoted to the basics jutsus every shinobi was expected to master, such as: the Clone, Substitution, and Transformation Jutsus.
The yard filled with faint pops of chakra release, half-formed clones with missing limbs or sagging faces, substitutions with cracked logs that fell clumsily to the ground.
Transformation was the least chaotic, though the results varied wildly, some students perfectly mirrored their targets, while others ended up with comically distorted proportions.
Temari rapidly stood out with her clean and good performance in all of the three, followed immediately by Isan and Daiana. Shira, on the other hand, his clone collapsed into a puff of smoke before it even took shape. He laughed it off.