The sun had lost the sharp white of noon and lay thick and low across the courtyard, turning sandstone into a slow-burning color that filled the air with a dry, metallic heat.
Light slanted through the open arches and pooled on the chalked circle until the ring itself seemed to glow; every inhalation tasted of grit and dust, and Isan felt the day in the ache of his knees and the hollow pull beneath his ribs long before he moved.
Across the circle, Shira waited with the small, impatient movements of someone who refused to sit still even when his body demanded it. Bandages at his knuckles were dark, his ribs showed a pale bruise beneath sun-rubbed fabric, and the split at the corner of his lip had dried into a copper line, a tally of both the victory he had seized and the toll it exacted
Around them the crowd hummed, voices close and human in the way of those who watch their peers push themselves against their own limits.
Daiana stood near the chalk line with her arms folded, the cloth of her bandages stained darker for the many times she had wrapped and tended to others that day.
Shira momentarily closed his eyes as he recalled a conversation he had with Isan a few hours ago.
"Shira.", they had just been called to gather, the courtyard buzzing with motion, when Isan's voice cut across it.
"Isan. What is it?", staying still in his place, Shira turned around to face Isan.
The other trainees continued following the instructor, leaving the three of them, as Daiana also stopped in her place looking at the two of them.
She was about to ask what was going when Isan signalled for her to leave them alone.
Narrowing her dark eyes at him, she nodded lightly before following along with the rest.
"Isan? What is it? Why couldn't Daiana-", Shira seeing what just occurred was full of questions as he turned once more to Isan, who interrupted him.
"There is something I have to tell you. We are currently at the end of our third year at the Academy, and this is when the exam of spars is held."
Shira didn't say anything, as he already knew all of this and simply nodded his head in response to Isan.
"I am sure that you are already aware of this, but this isn't why I held you back."
Nodding once more, Shira wanted Isan to hurry himself over, as he felt that this conversation was leading to nowhere and the others were already very far.
"Shira. I want you to restrain yourself today."
Isan's words remained in the space between them for a good time, as the two boys stared at each other in the eye.
"Is this a joke? Isan?", finally Shira spoke.
"Are you asking me to lose on purpose?", the intensity in Shira's voice was beginning to rise, while Isan remained stoic through it all.
"I didn't ask that of you. I simply said for you to restraint yours-"
"What is the difference between that and losing when I face Temari or Daiana or you?", Shira's tone and intensity continued to rise until Isan held his hand up, stopping him from speaking.
"Shira. I already warned you of your temper. You need to learn to calm yourself and cool your head.", a low grunt escaped Shira's lips as he gritted his teeth fiercely.
"Why do you think you are going to lose to us? And when did I mention that you had to restrain all the time?"
Confusion replaced frustration and irritation in Shira's face, as he stared at Isan who was beginning to walk towards him.
"My friend... my dear friend, you are very mistaken of your own abilities. We need to get going as I don't want to get an earful from the instructor.", placing his hand on Shira's left shoulder, he walked past him before stopping momentarily as Shira's voice, quivering and slightly trembling, reached him
"Won't that be arrogant? I don't want to face anyone without giving it my all."
A dead silence fell around them, as neither of them spoke.
"More arrogant is to think you will be able to prepare and fight every battle, every fight in your best condition. So many factors come into play be them weather, terrain, number of enemies or allies... can you promise me that you will be able to fight in the future at your best condition? Always?"
"... no."
The signal came sharp, bringing Shira back into the present reality as his eyes opened up in a flash.
'Isan. I am sorry. I know that you are seeing far more into the future than me, but...', a fire was burning fiercely in Shira's eyes and chest. 'I don't think I will be able to hold myself back like I did with Temari.'
Shira blurred forward as if released from a spring, fists snapping in a chain of jabs and crosses that forced Isan to cover high at once. The impacts cracked against his forearms, each one sharp as stone striking stone.
He dipped suddenly, driving a straight for Isan's ribs. The elbow dropped just in time, the blow thudding hard against bone, jarring both fighters.
Isan answered instantly. His shin whipped out low, brutal, cutting across Shira's thigh. The sound was not loud but deep, a thud that made the students in the crowd wince.
Shira grunted but did not slow. He drove forward into the pain, shoulders loose, and feinted a hook before snapping a knee upward.
Isan retreated a half-step, letting the knee pass close, then sank low and swept his leg across the sand.
Shira sprang back, dust rising with the movement, and rushed in again. Their elbows being blocked by the other's palm, the collision cracking through the yard as the two locked eyes over their guards.
For a moment they held there, straining, before breaking apart. Both smirked faintly, the challenge clear.
Shira pivoted, hips turning, and whipped a high kick for Isan's temple.
Isan raised his guard, forearm catching the strike with a jolt that numbed his fingers. The impact rattled through his bones, forcing him to plant hard into the grit.
Shira spun on the follow-through, his momentum carrying into a backfist that clipped across Isan's cheekbone.
The crowd erupted at the sharp crack.
He snapped back with a counter of his own, a straight punch that drove through Shira's guard and thudded against his chest. Shira reeled half a step, ribs protesting, but he recovered and answered immediately with a body kick, his shin whipping in hard.
The strike landed flush against Isan's side. He hissed under his breath, but bit down on the ache and retaliated in kind, a low kick hacking into Shira's thigh. The sound was deep, dull, and made the front row of students wince.
Shira's leg buckled for a heartbeat before he caught himself. His face tightened, but he surged forward instead of back, throwing a one-two-high kick combination in quick rhythm.
Isan blocked high, the final kick glancing off his guard. He drove forward with a cross, then a hook to the body. Shira twisted with them, absorbing the shots, then whipped his own fist into Isan's ribs.
Both grunted, the exchange heavy and raw, but neither slowed.
Dust curled around their feet as they circled again. Shoulders marked, breathing rougher, their guards still sharp but visibly strained.
Shira broke first. He jabbed twice, feinted a third, then snapped into a mid-kick aimed for Isan's side. Isan stepped back just enough, letting the kick skim air, then shot forward with a stiff right hand that landed square on Shira's jaw.
The blow rocked him, snapping his head aside, but Shira spat blood and came forward again, ignoring the sting in his leg and the swelling pain under his ribs.
The crowd roared as the two collided again, strikes hammering back and forth, each one more desperate than the last.
The circle had become a storm.
Shira came on again, his fists darting, the rhythm jagged now, less clean but no weaker. His jab snapped against Isan's cheek, his cross followed, and when Isan turned his guard too high, Shira cut low with a whipping kick to the ribs.
The strike cracked against bone, but Isan answered instantly, his own shin slamming against Shira's thigh again. The two blows echoed together, pain answering pain.
Neither man gave ground.
Isan pushed forward with a sharp one-two, his left hand grazing Shira's jaw, his right digging into his body.
Shira's breath burst out harsh, but his counter came fast, a hook to the side of Isan's head that snapped sweat into the air.
The crowd gasped. Both staggered half a step, but instead of retreating, they clashed closer, fists trading in a blur, shoulders twisting, torsos shifting, each strike dragging a wince from the crowd that felt it in their own bones.
Dust clung to their skin, mixing with sweat. Their lungs rasped now, pulling air hard, but their eyes burned with the same fire, fierce and determined.
Shira launched another high kick, his heel flashing toward Isan's temple. Isan ducked under it this time, stepping inside to drive a straight punch into Shira's ribs. The blow landed deep, folding him slightly, but Shira gritted his teeth and snapped a short uppercut into Isan's guard.
It grazed, but it was enough to rattle.
Isan staggered back, chest heaving. His ribs throbbed, his side burning, but he refused to let it show.
Shira spat red onto the sand, then raised his guard again, face swollen but grin curling faintly at the corner of his mouth.
The two stared, sweat running down their temples, their guards trembling slightly with fatigue.
Then they clashed again.
Shira opened with a heavy body kick, his shin digging into Isan's hip. Isan groaned, but he answered with a straight punch that snapped Shira's head back.
Neither stopped.
Every exchange was slowly slipping away from technique and going to pure will and determination as pain and exhaustion began to settled and take over their bodies.
They were fighting through numbness, ignoring the dull fire in their legs, the ache spreading through ribs and shoulders.
At the chalk line, Daiana clenched her fists unconsciously, her eyes wide as she watched them drive each other further, past the line of endurance.
Blood sprayed the dust.
The courtyard thundered with the rhythm of fists and shins, until the crowd could hardly breathe, watching two figures who had long since left comfort behind and were burning through nothing but stubbornness and pride.