"Taijutsu. Who can tell me what Taijutsu is?" Keiko's clear, firm voice cut across the academy grounds, ringing with the kind of authority that immediately snapped the attention of most of the children lined up in two neat rows.
The air was bright with the midday sun, its rays slanting over the open training field. A faint breeze rustled the edges of the grass and the wooden posts that marked the sparring circles.
Satoru, stationed at one end of the line with Ito fidgeting beside him, turned his head to look at the homeroom instructor. His neck cracked audibly as he did so, a sharp krrk! sound that made him wince. The dull ache that followed was a reminder, an uninvited souvenir from his recent training with Shisui and Itachi.
'I'm still sore…' he thought grimly, rolling his shoulders as if that would help.
The weighted chainmail had dug into his muscles in ways that normal aches couldn't describe; even standing still reminded him of the pressure that had pressed against every bone and ligament.
He sighed internally. 'Meditating right after it makes it easier to recover. But man, it takes a lot of time. Time I don't always have.'
From a little further down the line, a girl with pale eyes and an unassuming posture raised his hand. Hoshino Hyūga, soft-spoken but sharp in the way all Hyūga children seemed to be, answered calmly, "Taijutsu is the art of using the body for combat, without relying on ninjutsu or genjutsu."
Keiko smiled, her face lighting with approval. "Excellent, Hoshino. That's exactly right."
The homeroom instructor took a moment to glance across her class, scanning the rows of children. Her hair was tied back tightly, not a strand out of place, and her hands rested behind her back as if she were about to drill soldiers rather than five-year-olds.
"Now," she said, her voice rising just enough to carry, "I'm sure you've already guessed why we're not in the classroom today. Today marks your very first Taijutsu class."
A ripple ran through the group; low murmurs, little gasps, and the occasional groan of dread. Satoru heard them clearly, though he didn't bother looking to see who was making them. He was too busy suppressing a yawn, his body still begging for sleep even after last night's recovery.
Keiko raised her hand, and the murmurs fell quickly to silence. Her gaze sharpened. "For your first lesson, you will spar against each other."
That announcement set the children buzzing again; little whispers, nervous laughter, and sharp intakes of breath echoed along the lines.
"Quiet." Keiko's tone cut like a kunai, silencing the chorus almost instantly. "I don't want to hear excuses. The point of this is not to win. It is to understand what you don't know before I teach you anything. You cannot learn to walk properly if you don't know how you stumble."
Satoru arched a brow, keeping his scepticism buried behind a blank face. 'Understand what they don't know, huh? Sounds like a convenient way to let us flail around for entertainment. I mean, sure, you learn by failing—but isn't this just setting kids up to get smacked in the face?'
He kept his thoughts to himself, however, watching quietly as Keiko pulled a small clipboard from behind her back. "I will be calling out pairs. When I call your name, step forward into the sparring circle, bow, make the seal of confrontation, and then begin."
The first names that rolled off her tongue made Satoru blink.
"Ito and Asami."
Satoru turned sharply to his side.
"Eh?" he whispered, startled, then gave Ito a quick look of sympathy. "Well… good luck," he muttered under his breath, giving the boy a tiny nod. He had a feeling his friend would need every bit of it.
Asami was already stepping forward with quick, confident strides. Unlike Ito, she was not an orphan. Her father was a shinobi, and everyone in class knew it. That meant she had been taught at home—her movements carried that kind of drilled sharpness, that quiet self-assurance that came from experience. She wasn't from one of the major clans, but the difference between her and a completely untrained civilian was night and day.
Ito shuffled nervously into the circle, his face pale, his hands clumsy as he mirrored her stance.
"Seal of confrontation," Keiko instructed.
The two pressed their hands together in the formal seal, then stepped back.
"Begin."
The fight was short-lived.
Whump!
Asami's first strike—a simple push kick—landed squarely on Ito's torso. He staggered backwards with a pained grunt, his eyes wide. She didn't give him time to recover. Two more quick blows and Ito was on the ground, curled up with a moan of pain.
'As expected…' Satoru thought, wincing as he watched his friend groan. He clenched his jaw. 'Damn it. I barely saw anything of her technique. Just a couple of kicks and pushes. I need to stockpile moves, to memorise anything I can use later—but this… this isn't enough.'
He folded his arms tightly, frustration gnawing at his stomach. His so-called "training" with Shisui so far was resistance work, nothing more. Sure, it was building his body, but in a fight? Right now, he had less than zero experience. He would get flattened, just like Ito.
One by one, the matches continued. Keiko called more names, pairs stepping into the circle to test their luck.
Ayano was called eventually. Satoru leaned forward in concern as she stepped in. Her face was set with determination, but her opponent—another student with a shinobi parent—was clearly more practised. Ayano fought hard, swinging with all the stubbornness in her little frame, but it ended the same way Ito's did. A few exchanges, a few hits, and she was on the ground too, panting and frustrated.
Satoru's brows furrowed as he watched.
But then something clicked.
He noticed a pattern. All the children from shinobi clans were paired against each other. And all the civilian kids, like himself, were paired with other civilians. There was no mix, no mismatch.
'That's… surprisingly fair,' he thought, blinking as he considered it. 'They're actually balancing the matches. So it's not a complete slaughterhouse. Huh. Didn't expect that.'
Keiko's voice rose again, calling the next names.
"Next is Sarutobi Akio… and Satoru."
Satoru felt his stomach plummet. His lips twitched.
'I really jinxed it, didn't I?' he muttered under his breath. He forced his spine straight, steeling his nerves as he stepped forward into the circle. His pulse quickened, pounding hard in his ears.
Akio was already there, standing opposite him with a confident smirk plastered across his face. He was taller than Satoru, his build already leaning toward solid despite their young age. Sarutobi blood, Satoru thought grimly; it practically radiated off him.
"Seal of confrontation," Keiko ordered.
The two boys stepped forward. Their small hands pressed together in the traditional seal, fingers locking briefly in silent acknowledgement.
Then they stepped back, eyes locked. The dirt beneath them was scuffed and marked from previous fights, dust swirling lazily in the warm air.
Keiko's hand chopped down.
"Begin."
Akio wasted no time. He lunged first.
And that's where this scene ends: Aki making the first move, leaving Satoru on the brink of his very first real spar.
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