**TW for self-harm—not emotionally driven.
Our second day of exams started not with a bang, but a whimper. Well, technically the day itself started with a bang, as Yoshiro-sensei awoke us all by clanging two metal pots together as loudly as he could. We hadn't been allowed to return to our homes the night before, and had instead been told to make ourselves comfortable on the hardwood floor of an academy classroom. Yes, together, all in the same room.
From my time in the military, I could speculate why. Someone with a rosier worldview than I would call it an effort to form bonds between brothers/sisters-in-arms. But reality wasn't quite so mushy. The Iwagakure academy did its best to strip away our egos, our self-consciousness, any individual irregularities that kept us from joining the collective. Separation of genders, for example, was done away with except in the most extreme situations, like when we bathed. People who didn't get along were forced to interact far more regularly with one another than with anyone else. And we were frequently put in positions that forced us to endure or overcome, to borrow modern Earth slang, our personal icks.
For instance, I didn't like being physically close to anyone that I didn't consider a loved one. That was something I brought over from my last life, and in most circumstances, it wasn't much of an issue. In Iwagakure, like in many Asian countries on Earth, people kept a respectable distance from one another, and it was rare for someone to invade your personal space, even in crowded settings. But I swear, Yoshiro-sensei made it his mission to get as many of my classmates close to me as possible. And I wasn't the only one—Aimi, back before she was yoinked out of our class, folded under attention of any kind. So Yoshiro-sensei made her the center of attention at every available opportunity. Not always in a negative or even obtrusive sense; sometimes, he had her read problems, or passages that we were discussing. Sometimes, he had people hand in assignments to her. Once in our infiltration class, he even had her model the ordinary dress a civilian of her demographic might wear, and encouraged our classmates to ask her questions on the subject. She had been declared the authority, even though she wasn't nearly the only civilian-born in Batch Sixty-Seven.
There was something strange about the sleeping arrangement, or rather the wakeup call, which I would have questioned if we weren't taking an exam. We had been kept overnight at the academy like this before, when we participated in our battle readiness unit. We were trained to awaken instantly when specific conditions were met, and to immediately recall vital information the moment our brains gained cognizance. Light touches to different body parts could mean different things, and pulses of chakra could send messages. It was, for me, one of the most difficult units in all of the academy.
So what was with all the pomp? I guessed it was to throw us off. Most days we'd probably be woken up in a similar manner. But one day, we wouldn't, and how/if we reacted would be graded. I bet the bastards would wait until we were at our most worn-out, physically.
But I digress. The whimper that really kicked off my day was from Oye Kyo, my classmate, as he dragged a kunai across his arm, leaving a bloody gash in its wake.
"Not deep enough," a bored-looking chunin proctor said dispassionately. "Make another."
Trying to bite back his reaction this time, Kyo made another, worse cut. I tried not to glare at him for making my job harder.
This was the first-aid portion. We were paired up with one another and given the roles patient and medic, which would switch once the medic either succeeded or failed. The proctor picked one of three maladies at random that the patient had to inflict on themselves, the options being laceration (which Kyo, the lucky bastard, had been given), burn, or bone fracture. I thanked my lucky stars that they had real medic-nin on standby, who would actually heal us with jutsu once the student in the medic role had been graded.
With textbook efficiency, I disinfected and properly bandaged the wound. Excuse me, wounds. Thanks, Kyo. The proctor gave no sign as to what he thought of my efforts, but he gave a nod to signify he had seen enough, and signaled a medic-nin to treat my classmate.
A foul smell caught my attention as I waited. There was only one other pair in this room—everyone else had gone somewhere else. But Watanabe Misao stood across from Konjiki Katsuo, pressing a glowing poker to his leg. The tenseness in his jaw was the only reaction he gave to the agony he must have been in. I wonder if it was really a coincidence that the Konjiki was being tested on burn treatment.
"Imai Kasaiki," my proctor stated, now that Kyo was healed with barely a scar. The first cut he made was gone completely—evidence that it was, in fact, too shallow to be a sufficient challenge. "Your turn. Your injury…let's go with fracture."
A nod was the only reaction I gave to that news. Immediately, I sat down on the ground and pinched a nerve in my leg. It hurt like a bitch, but that was a pain I was familiar with. It did well to bury the less familiar pain that flared as I lashed out with a chakra enhanced knife hand, which neatly and very audibly broke my tibia.
"Kyo-san," I said blandly, offering him my leg. He wasted no time selecting an appropriate splint from the foraged materials laid out before us—mostly ordinary sticks and common plants with medicinal uses that could supplement the supplies we would always carry like bandages, sewing kits and rubbing alcohol. To his credit, he did a pretty good job. I was sure he would get good marks, for the medic portion at least. His performance as the patient, I bet, would have some slight bearing on the exam results.
I was actually healed a couple minutes later, once the medic finished with Misao, and that was another test completed.
- - - { ワナビー } - - -
The next segment was taijutsu. Martial arts, plain and simple, no gimmicks this time. Two fights, one against someone stronger than me, and one against multiple opponents theoretically weaker than me. No rematches or do-overs.
When I first began training to be a kunoichi, I never thought I would be someone who enjoyed hand-to-hand combat. But then I grew up to be bigger than half the boys (approaching five seven and still growing), and that merely dictated my height and reach. My strength and speed outstipped most of my batchmates once I properly honed my chakra enhancement, and, frankly, I loved winning. I began to look forward to sparring class rather than dread its imminence, and that eventually translated into a more general love of the taijutsu artform.
So, despite the exam pressure, I was genuinely looking forward to testing my mettle against a veteran chunin taijutsu specialist (that wasn't Sawamura-sensei, who was familiar with my capabilities and vice versa).
As Kakashi would say, I came at him with the intent to kill. Chakra enhancement on full display, we clashed viciously for no less than fifteen minutes. I lost in the end, but I could tell it was far closer than my opponent was expecting. He and another watching proctor dismissed me to decide my grade.
That was the hard part. I wasn't worried at all about my second fight; in this case, I could actually prepare. All of us graduates would fight two fellow academy students, chosen out of a pool. Most would be two years younger than us, but since each batch was roughly the same size and the exam required twice as many opponents as participants, some would be pulled from semesters older and younger.
Pretty certain they would try to give me a challenge, I investigated the top ten students of batches seventy-two to sixty-nine. I couldn't sit in on any sparring classes—I had stuff going on at the same time—but I kept my ear to the ground and took notes. Sparring class was often a topic of (loud) discussion, and if I learned the class schedules and loitered in the right spots, I could learn a lot.
So it came as little surprise when I found myself pitted against Niwa Isamu and Yogi Taro, rank one and two respectively of Batch Sixty-Nine. No doubt, I had the toughest matchup out of any of my classmates.
"Should have known it would be you," Isamu said, and I gave him a rare smile. The Niwa were one of Iwagakure's noble clans, and they had a bloodline ability that allowed them to sense vibrations, Toph-style. They were our rebuttal to the Inuzuka and Hyuga. And I knew how that skill could be useful in a taijutsu bout.
"Thank you for your participation in my exam," I said dutifully. "As a gesture of gratitude, I would like to treat you to lunch after its conclusion."
Taro snorted. "I don't think you'll have time, but thanks."
I nodded. "Please, do not hold back." It was unnecessary—this would count towards their grade as well. Though the stakes weren't nearly as high for them.
"Hajime," the proctor called, and I blitzed into action. In an instant, I was in front of Taro, the physically stronger of the two, fist cocked back. It was a feint; I would never telegraph like that, but as my opponent, caught off-guard by my speed, raised an arm to divert the incoming blow, I planted my foot to the floorboards with chakra and seamlessly transitioned into a spinning kick. Isamu's feet left the ground, but his bloodline wasn't just for show. The moment my foot had touched down, he had raised his guard.
He would be up in a moment, but I took the opportunity to engage Taro one on one. He had impressive skill, but he couldn't use chakra enhancement, so each blow he blocked crushed his arms against his chest. Before I could cause serious damage, I ducked to the floor and used chakra sticking on my hands to swing into a powerful leg sweep. He jumped over, but I wanted him to do that. Mid-air, he couldn't do anything as I grabbed him by the ankle and bodily threw him out of the ring.
That entire exchange lasted thirty seconds.
"So much for the two on one," Isamu grumbled.
I smiled apologetically. The textbook solution to winning against multiple opponents was to find a way to engage them individually. That meant either taking one out temporarily, like I had done, or keeping one of the opponents physically in the way of the other. Following that guideline, as annoying as it may be to my juniors, was the best way for me to ensure high marks.
Isamu approached warily, circling around the perimeter. His bloodline was an annoyance; I was pretty sure he could sense the intensity of the vibrations and use that to differentiate attempts to fool him from serious action. And that he could predict upper body movement from what he sensed down below.
I wouldn't be surprised if the time my match took factored into my grade somehow, so I, once again, made the first move. It didn't matter if he could sense me if he couldn't keep up with me physically, and he knew that too. Instead of blocking my quick jabs like Taro had been forced to do, he dodged with the efficiency of someone who knew where all my blows were coming from and when.
But there was one, obvious weakness to his ability. He couldn't sense something if it didn't impact the ground.
I slipped behind him, but instead of futilely attacking from behind, I jumped into a graceful backflip. He whirled around frantically as I spun both backwards and around to face his unguarded posterior, unleashing a dropkick that was more so a gentle but firm push than an actual attack. It wasn't just out of kindness; there was no better way to demonstrate that you outclassed someone than to strike without the intention of dealing damage. Still, he was launched powerfully out of the ring like his partner, securing my victory.
"Good match," I said, not even slightly out of breath, only getting groans in response. I grinned, remembering when I was in their shoes not so long ago.
- - - { ワナビー } - - -
We began our formal taijutsu instruction in our fifth semester, even though we had been fighting one another from day one. The purpose of that, I found, was to begin the lengthy process of desensitizing us to acts of violence and taking hits as soon as possible, whilst also letting us discover the basics on our own, with guidance from our peers and Yoshiro-sensei. The most impactful lessons were the ones we taught ourselves—something that the Iwagakure educational system knew all too well.
As such, we had intimate knowledge of taijutsu principles before we learned our Stone Fist katas, like how to put as much force into our blows, how to orient our bodies, how to capitalize on mistakes our opponents made. How to follow through, how to evade, how to think in the heat of battle. How to be flexible and adapt, rather than stick to the same few combos that could be noticed and exploited.
The end result was that, once we officially learned the Stone Fist, we were able to apply it practically almost immediately. Sparring class became more structured, more analytical, and each fight lasted substantially longer.
On the last day of our eighth semester, only a year after we first began to incorporate the Stone Fist into our fights, Yoshiro-sensei broached the topic of participating in the final exams.
"Normally, we wouldn't pit people as inexperienced as yourselves in these matches," he said. "But due to shortage of available candidates, we have been forced to select two of you to participate. Because of the circumstances, I will offer this lucky pairing a boon. Likely, they will have to participate an additional time in a later exam, so I will allow them to take the better grade between the two as final."
Which was huge. Whoever went would essentially get two chances to take the same test, an option that was almost never given in the Iwagakure academy.
"The two that I've chosen to participate are Imai Kasaiki, and…Ishida Iwao."
As our whole class began to whisper, I chanced a look at Iwao. Our relationship had gotten…better, after the class missions debacle. He now interacted civilly with me in public, and his followers' rude comments had lessened. He also hadn't exposed my missions to anyone, which I was incredibly grateful for.
"Two days from now, at eleven a.m, return to the academy and meet Shinsato-sensei in the courtyard."
We didn't dare complain about our functionally shortened break, and followed Yoshiro-sensei's instructions. On the day of the exam, we were taken to one of the classrooms in the Third's building that had been arranged for sparring. It was identical to the one we always used, the exact location of which hadn't changed in all our years in the academy so far.
Iwao froze briefly as our opponent was revealed, and I understood why. Because the boy wasn't unfamiliar to either of us.
"Kiyomasa. Your opponents," Shinsato-sensei kinda introduced. I didn't mind—it was probably better if he didn't know our real names.
"These runts are supposed to be my opponents?" the large boy sneered. "What are they? Six? Whatever. I'll take the easy win." He squinted at us, rubbing his only two brain cells together. "Do I know you or something? You look familiar."
Masataka Kiyomasa was the catalyst that destroyed mine and Iwao's friendship. Back when Iwao took me to a seemingly abandoned training ground to practice throwing shuriken, he accidentally nicked Kiyomasa's arm, which sent the older boy into a rage. I scared him off by demonstrating the Kawarimi no Jutsu and holding a shuriken to his neck. Iwao felt ashamed by his own reaction, and that I had to save him.
I had seen Kiyomasa once between classes early on, and had, as a result, kept tabs on him. He was a D student, and a failure at anything academic. He was relatively new to his batch too, having used his one allotted hold back three semesters ago. Even on the physical side of things, he was barely above average on a good day. Despite the size difference, this should be an easy fight.
If psychology wasn't at play. Iwao's face was stoic, and he wasn't trembling or anything overt. But I knew him well enough to tell he was extremely unnerved.
"I'll take an easy win," I repeated, ignoring his followup question. "You took the words right out of my mouth."
"What did you say?" he growled.
"Masataka Kiyomasa," I drawled, and he stiffened at the use of his full name. "Ranked sixteenth in your class in taijutsu. Rank twenty-four overall."
"What the hell?" Kiyomasa said, wheeling on his sensei. "You told them about me?"
"I didn't, actually," he replied, one of his own eyebrows cocked. "They shouldn't have known who they would be fighting beforehand."
"Not who exactly," I said lazily. "I researched all the members of your class, knowing I would have to fight one of them. When our sensei told us about our participation in this exam, I'll admit to being a little worried. But after I did my research, that completely went away. Maybe if we were facing Kuba-san."
I name-dropped their class rank one, guessing Kiyomasa probably had an inferiority complex. From his expression—kami, was he even training to be a ninja?—it seemed I was correct.
"I suppose you have one advantage," I drawled, inspecting my fingernails as if he was the dirt underneath them. "You were so beneath my notice, that I didn't bother to research your taijutsu style in detail. But I think I can guess. Brawler, with subpar technique. Relies on his size to win, and nothing else. Both me and my partner could beat you one on one. Unfortunately, we'll be graded on our ability to work as a team, so now you have even less of a chance."
My words were directed at Kiyomasa, who was all but frothing at the mouth. But really, they were meant for Iwao. He was better at disguising his emotions, but his feet shifted in a manner that I guessed to be positive.
"If you're done with the pre-fight banter," Shinsato-sensei said, exasperation in his tone.
"Banter? Forgive me, I was just thinking out loud. But yes, let's start the match. I didn't think this would take long, so I didn't eat breakfast. I think udon, as a victory meal, sounds nice."
I took to the arena, Iwao a half-step behind me. Should I just blitz him, and take him out myself? No. We might get an imperfect grade, Iwao especially if I didn't give him the chance to contribute.
"Remember," I staged-whispered to Iwao. "We have to take him out together to get the most points. So don't just beat him yourself without letting me get a couple hits in."
"You're so annoying," Iwao said, but his tone didn't match his words.
"So you keep telling me."
"Hajime," Shinsato-sensei declared, and, predictably, Kiyomasa charged forward like a dumb bull. I was his target, and I hoped he saw my patronizing smile as I stepped out of his way and kicked his foot in. He definitely heard my laugh, though.
"Look," I jeered to Iwao. "I've never seen that taijutsu move before. Have you? He must have some sort of advanced strategy that can only be used after he faceplants, right?"
Kiyomasa had rolled over, and was screaming as he swung an arm at me. I ducked under and sent a right cross into his stomach. He stumbled back, blanching.
Meanwhile, Iwao, to my inward elation, was acting. He slunk behind Kiyomasa and kicked his right knee—currently supporting all his weight—in, making him immediately sink to the ground with a startled shout.
He lashed out, fixing Iwao with a wild look as he swung his arm. Then, my good humor disappeared as Iwao did what I prayed he wasn't going to. He froze.
Jumping forward, I inserted my arm in between us. Despite his size, I was pretty confident I could shake off a lucky punch like that. Unfortunately, I was proven wrong when Kiyomasa demonstrated that I had shockingly overestimated his intelligence.
My arm cracked as the brass knuckled hidden under his bandages made contact. And here I thought he just didn't know how to wrap properly. I made no comment, and merely gritted my teeth.
The action I took couldn't be interpreted as anything other than what it was; an intervention on Iwao's behalf that shouldn't have been necessary. I knew it, Shinsato-sensei who was grading us knew it, and Iwao certainly knew it too. But despite the brief mental regression, Iwao had grown a lot since our last encounter with the bully. Instead of growing ashamed and lashing out at me, he turned his self-hatred into something productive.
A mask of concentration fell over his face as ducked under Kiyomasa's other arm, which swung up in a poorly-executed hammer arm. As he dodged, he let loose a devastating jab to Kiyomasa's armpit. Rarely a target one gets the chance to hit, due to its challenging location, but it was always effective.
As Kiyomasa flailed around, Iwao took advantage of their height difference once again, dodging each blow easily, and punishing every opening they created. He was utterly dismantling Kiyomasa.
And I was still in the fight too.
I booted him in the small of the back, making him stumble forward into Iwao's next blow. I danced away from the retaliatory swing, noting Kiyomasa's heavy breathing and unfocussed eyes, and shared a loaded glance with my partner. He gave me a nod that I returned, and we got serious.
Every blow Kiyomasa launched, I intercepted and redirected, using my chakra enhancement only to defend. Meanwhile, Iwao dealt quick strikes to soft targets. He wasn't holding back at all, and I mentally applauded him for taking advantage of this rare opportunity for catharsis. But when a devastatingly brutal cross to the solar plexus audibly cracked bone, I knew it was time to end things.
I viciously clapped Kiyomasa on both sides of the head at once, and he went down groaning. Vertigo kept him from successfully taking to his feet. As Iwao went to boot him viciously in the back of the head, I put a restraining hand on his shoulder. He blinked, snapping out of whatever spell he was under.
"I think that's enough of this farce, don't you?" I asked Shinsato-sensei, who gave a sharp nod.
"Victory to the challengers," he declared.
"N…no. no," Kiyomasa whimpered.
"No?" I repeated patronizingly as I crouched over him. He tried to swat at me, but all his strength was gone. I caught the hand and raised it up. "I don't know what's more pathetic. That you can't beat kids over three years younger than you, that you cheated in your fight with them, or that you couldn't even win while cheating."
I held up the arm and yanked the bandages away from the disguised weapon. "I thought weapons were prohibited in this exam, sensei?"
"They were," he said, not shocked by the revelation. He must have noticed them already, and chosen not to intervene for some reason, likely pertaining to the nature of the final exam. "He will be penalized for that. I apologize for any injury that might have caused."
"No need to apologize," I said. "No harm, no foul, I believe the saying goes? Even with the weapon, his punches were so pathetic that they couldn't hope to hurt me."
I was already flash flooding my cracked arm, which hurt far more than the hit that caused the injury in the first place. But that was fine.
Dismissed, I turned to Iwao, who was panting. I don't think it was solely from exertion.
"Do you want to go get udon with me? I asked, and he blinked.
"Sure," he said, the answer seeming to surprise himself as much as it did me.
Neither I nor Iwao (to my knowledge) asked Yoshiro-sensei why we together had been chosen to fight Masataka Kiyomasa of all people. I don't believe in coincidences in a ninja village, so someone must have known the ties we all shared. Maybe Iwao's father had someone following us all those years ago, which wasn't incredibly surprising in retrospect.
But I couldn't bring myself to care about why the fight was arranged. All I knew was that I was glad that it had been.
- - - { ワナビー } - - -
AN: …did I say Tuesday? I meant Wednesday haha. Comedy.
Hope you enjoyed this chapter. It's something that's been planned since I first conceptualized Iwao as a character.
Tune in next week for day two part two, conditioning and genjutsu.