Chapter 8 - A Way To Win
Every night, Iruka died.
Naruto jolted awake, heart hammering against his ribs as phantom fingers seemed to crush his windpipe. He gasped, sucking in air greedily, the rough texture of his thin blanket scraping against his chin. The chilling echo of Mizuki's sneer—Demon fox—still hung heavy in the suffocating stillness of his small apartment. Sweat slicked his forehead, plastering stray blond strands to his skin.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the worn wooden floor cool beneath his bare feet. This was happening more often lately—the nightmares. Ever since that night in the forest, the one where the world tilted sideways and truths uglier than any prank clawed their way into the light. He scrubbed a hand vigorously over his face, trying to banish the lingering dread.
Dragging himself into the tiny bathroom, he splashed icy water onto his face, the shock doing little to clear the fuzz from his mind. He gripped the edges of the small, chipped sink, knuckles white, and slowly lifted his head to face the mirror above it.
Blue eyes stared back, wide and maybe a little haunted around the edges, but still undeniably blue. No trace of the monstrous red Mizuki's words had conjured. It was the same routine every morning for weeks now, this quiet, almost obsessive search in the cracked reflection. His fingers, calloused from training and rough from grabbing at tree bark and river rocks, traced the three distinct whisker-like marks etched onto each cheek. He'd always had them, never thought much about them. Just another weird thing about him, Uzumaki Naruto. But now... were these the brand? The mark of the beast hidden inside? He leaned closer, peering intently, but saw only skin, faint lines like scars he'd been born with.
His gaze drifted lower, to his neck. The ugly purple and blue mottling from Mizuki's chokehold had faded considerably over the past weeks, leaving only faint yellowish shadows beneath the skin, ghosts of the violence inflicted that night. He touched the area tentatively, the phantom pressure making him flinch almost imperceptibly. Mizuki's face, twisted with hatred, flashed behind his eyes. We will hate you always for it.
Naruto scowled at his reflection, searching the familiar face for any hint of the monster the villagers whispered about, the demon Mizuki spat at him, the creature Iruka's parents died fighting. Where was it? He poked his own cheek, tugged at his spiky hair, trying to provoke some sign, some monstrous flicker. Nothing. Just him. Just Naruto. Frustration simmered beneath the surface. Why couldn't he see it if it was right there, inside him?
He traced the whisker marks again, harder this time, leaving faint red lines in their wake. Still nothing. Just his own reflection staring back, maybe a little more tired, a little more tense around the eyes, but fundamentally the same loudmouth kid he'd always been. "Where are you then, stupid fox?" he muttered under his breath, frustration turning the words into a low growl directed at the unrevealing mirror. Was this some kind of sick joke? A monster hidden so deep even he couldn't see it?
His gaze flickered away from his own face, snagging on the glint of metal lying beside the sink. His forehead protector. Not just any protector, but the one Iruka had given him in the hospital. The metal was cool beneath his fingertips as he picked it up, the familiar weight grounding him slightly. He ran a thumb over the engraved leaf symbol, a symbol he'd chased after for so long.
Then his finger found it – the deep, jagged scratch marring the smooth surface. It wasn't polished away, wasn't buffed out. It was still there, a stark, silver scar across the dark metal. A permanent reminder of the shuriken meant for him, deflected by Iruka-sensei. Iruka, who knew. Knew about the fox, knew about his parents, and still shielded him. Still saw him.
Naruto stared at the scratch, the angry red lines on his own cheeks forgotten. The suffocating weight in his chest seemed to loosen, just a fraction. Mizuki's hateful sneer faded, replaced by the memory of Iruka's pained but unwavering eyes. You are not the fox.
He wasn't just the container. He wasn't just the demon whispered about in alleys. He was Naruto Uzumaki, Genin of the Hidden Leaf Village. And he had the scratched-up forehead protector to prove it.
Taking a deep breath that didn't quite shudder this time, Naruto tied the protector firmly around his forehead. The cool metal pressed against his skin, a tangible anchor. Enough wallowing. Enough searching for monsters in the mirror. He had a team waiting. He had a path forward. And he wouldn't let some stupid fox, hidden or not, mess it up.
Shikamaru squinted up at the figure perched precariously atop the tallest, most weathered training post in the clearing. The morning sun, finally managing to muscle through the last stubborn wisps of mist, glinted off the metal plate tied firmly around the figure's forehead. And the noise… gods, the noise.
"YEAH! TEAM SEVEN IS GONNA BE THE BEST! WE PASSED THE TEST! NEXT STOP, HOKAGE, BELIEVE IT!" Naruto Uzumaki, arms spread wide like some kind of ridiculous, orange gargoyle, was bellowing his triumph to the indifferent trees and the (presumably) sleeping villagers beyond.
What a drag. Shikamaru tipped his head back further against the rough bark of the tree he'd claimed, letting out a slow sigh. Less than twenty-four hours since that ridiculous bell test, and already the decibel level was excruciating. He'd barely managed to drag himself out of bed – the ache in muscles he hadn't even known existed was a testament to Kakashi-sensei's 'test' – only to be assaulted by this.
He watched Naruto pump a fist in the air, shouting something else about legendary missions and ramen. Shikamaru's eyes narrowed slightly, his analytical mind ticking over even through the haze of lingering sleepiness. From this angle, even with the bright sunlight, Naruto looked… rough. There were definite smudges beneath those startlingly blue eyes, darker than usual, hinting at a night spent wrestling with something other than sleep. His movements, though full of frantic energy, had a certain jagged edge, like a puppet pulled by strings just a hair too tight.
Where did he even get that energy? Shikamaru pondered, shifting slightly against the tree trunk. Most people, after the physical and mental wringer they'd been put through yesterday – not to mention nearly drowning – would be conserving every ounce of strength. But Naruto? He seemed determined to burn through whatever reserves he had left like a firework with a faulty fuse. It was illogical. Exhausting just to watch.
"Ugh, would you SHUT UP already, Naruto!" Ino's sharp voice cut through Naruto's latest declaration about being number one. She was leaning against another post, arms crossed, impeccably dressed as always despite the early hour and yesterday's near-drowning experience. Her glare could have probably melted the wood Naruto was standing on. "You're giving me a headache! And keep it down, you'll scare off Sasuke if he happens to walk by!"
Naruto just stuck his tongue out at her before launching into another earsplitting cheer.
Troublesome. Utterly, completely troublesome. Shikamaru closed his eyes again, the bright orange afterimage of Naruto imprinted on his eyelids. This was their team. A hyperactive enigma who ran on sheer willpower and maybe fumes, a loud fangirl preoccupied with a rival team member, and him, who just wanted to find a nice patch of grass and watch the clouds drift by until Kakashi-sensei inevitably showed up three hours late. Yeah, this genin life was shaping up to be exactly as taxing as he'd feared. He could already feel a nap coming on.
Right on schedule – meaning, completely off schedule – a familiar puff of smoke dissipated near the edge of the clearing, leaving Kakashi-sensei standing there, book already in hand. Shikamaru didn't even bother opening his eyes fully, just tracked the silver hair through lazy slits. Three hours late this time. A new record, maybe?
"Yo," Kakashi offered, his visible eye curving into that infuriatingly relaxed smile.
"YOU'RE LATE!" Naruto and Ino chorused instantly, predictably. Naruto scrambled down from his perch on the post with surprising agility, landing lightly before jabbing a finger at their teacher. Ino stalked forward, hands planted firmly on her hips.
"Sorry, sorry," Kakashi waved a dismissive hand, not sounding sorry at all. "A black cat crossed my path, so I had to take the long way."
Shikamaru sighed audibly. Black cats. Roads of life. The excuses were getting increasingly lazy. Still, at least they could finally get this 'training' started and maybe, just maybe, finish early enough for a decent nap.
"Alright team," Kakashi clapped his book shut with a soft thud. "Let's start with some warm-ups. Wouldn't want anyone pulling a muscle on our first official day." He proceeded to lead them through a series of stretches so basic they were practically insulting. Toe touches, arm circles, quad stretches… Shikamaru went through the motions with the absolute minimum required effort, limbs feeling heavy and unresponsive. This was pointless.
"Hah! This is easy!" Naruto declared, practically bouncing as he swung his arms in wide, exaggerated circles that threatened to take Ino's head off. "When do we get to the real training, Kakashi-sensei? Like learning super cool jutsu?"
"Pay attention, Naruto!" Ino snapped, executing a perfect, graceful hamstring stretch that looked suspiciously like she was trying to catch Kakashi's eye. "Proper form is crucial! You're just flailing around!" She then proceeded to demonstrate, elongating her limbs with theatrical precision. Show off.
Shikamaru watched them bicker, idly stretching his neck. Basic warm-ups… Kakashi wasn't dumb. He knew their capabilities, had seen them yesterday. This wasn't about physical preparation. It was observation. Gauging their attitudes, their focus (or lack thereof), how they interacted when the task was mundane. Standard instructor playbook stuff, really. He could probably map out the rest of the session already. Basic drills, maybe some target practice, followed by sparring to assess combat readiness. Too predictable. Honestly, dealing with Ino's competitive streak and Naruto's boundless, brainless energy was going to be the most challenging part.
"Okay, stretches done," Kakashi announced, startling Shikamaru slightly. He'd almost drifted off analyzing cloud patterns behind his closed eyelids. "Now that we're all limbered up…" Kakashi's eye swept over them, lingering a moment longer than necessary. Ah, here it comes. "...let's move on to some basic drills."
Called it. Shikamaru suppressed another sigh.
The drills were as predictable as Shikamaru had expected. Basic stances, simple katas that felt like academy reruns, footwork exercises moving back and forth across the clearing. Naruto, predictably, charged through them with twice the required speed and about half the necessary precision, shouting occasional "Yosh!"s to no one in particular. Shikamaru noticed, with a flicker of surprise, that the blond idiot's balance seemed better than before, his footwork less clumsy, more grounded – even if every move was still delivered with the subtlety of a charging boar. A temporary improvement, probably.
Ino, meanwhile, executed each movement with painstaking perfection, adding little flourishes here and there, her ponytail swaying rhythmically. She kept glancing towards Kakashi, making sure their sensei saw her flawless technique. She might as well have been preening. What a waste of energy. Shikamaru himself flowed through the drills with practiced economy, doing just enough to satisfy the requirement, conserving strength. Why burn fuel when idling worked just fine?
Through it all, Kakashi barely seemed to watch, his face obscured by that ever-present book. But Shikamaru wasn't fooled. He could feel the weight of that single visible eye occasionally scanning them, assessing, categorizing. It wasn't the drills themselves Kakashi cared about, it was how they performed them. Naruto's raw, uncontrolled energy. Ino's desire for validation. His own calculated laziness. Data points for the perpetually late, perpetually detached jounin. What was his angle? Why the mask, literal and figurative? Most elite shinobi he knew at least feigned interest. Kakashi seemed to cultivate indifference. Another troublesome puzzle.
Target practice followed. Kunai and shuriken thudded into the scarred wooden posts. Naruto's throws were forceful, embedding the metal deep, but his grouping was atrocious – scattered across the wood like angry buckshot. All power, no aim. Ino's were the opposite; precise, clustered neatly near the center, but lacking any real impact, as if she were afraid to mar the wood too much, or perhaps break a nail. Shikamaru landed his throws within the designated scoring zones with minimal fuss. Good enough.
He caught Kakashi watching Naruto's wildly powerful but inaccurate throws with that same unreadable expression. Was he disappointed? Intrigued? Impossible to tell. The man was a locked box wrapped in riddles inside an enigma, all delivered with infuriating nonchalance. It was almost impressive, in a highly irritating way.
"Alright," Kakashi finally drawled, snapping his book shut again. The sound seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet clearing. "Drills are done. Let's see how you handle yourselves against each other. Time for sparring."
Naruto instantly lit up, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Ino smoothed her top, adjusting her stance into something deliberately battle-ready yet still somehow aesthetically pleasing. Shikamaru just sighed. Sparring. Great. More sweating. What a drag.
"Sparring," Kakashi repeated, his visible eye scanning their reactions. Naruto looked like he'd just been offered an all-you-can-eat ramen buffet, practically vibrating with anticipation.
"Alright! Finally some action!" Naruto yelled, cracking his knuckles loudly. "Who's first? I'll take you both on!" He jabbed a thumb towards Shikamaru and Ino.
Ino scoffed, flicking her ponytail over her shoulder. "As if, Naruto. You'd go down in two seconds." She shot a challenging look back at him, already squaring up slightly. Typical. Always needing to one-up Naruto.
"Now, hold on," Kakashi drawled, cutting off Naruto's inevitable retort. He stepped forward, the lazy slouch gone for a moment, replaced by something sharper. "Don't think this is like the sparring you did back at the academy."
Shikamaru watched, a sliver of actual interest cutting through his usual lethargy. This shift in Kakashi's demeanor was noteworthy.
"Academy sparring," Kakashi continued, stuffing his hands into his pockets, "was mostly about demonstrating technique, following rules, scoring points. It was controlled." He let the word hang in the air. "From now on, sparring is about something else."
"Yeah? What's that?" Naruto demanded, leaning forward eagerly. "Learning awesome new killer moves?"
Kakashi's eye curved. "Survival," he said simply. The amusement in his voice didn't quite reach his eye this time. "It's about assessing threats, exploiting weaknesses, controlling the engagement, and ending the fight efficiently. Fewer rules, higher intensity. Think less like a test, more like…" He paused, glancing around the training ground. "...the real thing, just without the dying part. Hopefully."
Shikamaru processed this. Survival. Efficiency. Exploiting weaknesses. So, less about showing off predetermined forms like Ino was prone to, or relying on brute force like Naruto. More about tactical application. Thinking required. Still sounded like effort, but marginally more interesting than just going through the motions.
"So, basically, we can actually go all out?" Naruto asked, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he glanced towards Ino.
"Naruto, 'all out' for you probably means knocking yourself unconscious against a tree," Ino snapped back immediately. "Try using your brain for once."
"Hey! My taijutsu's gotten way better, believe it!"
"Quiet," Kakashi sighed, rubbing his temple beneath his mask. Shikamaru suspected dealing with them was already giving the man a headache. "The point is, expect unpredictability. Expect your opponent to fight dirty if they need to. Expect me to intervene less. Your goal isn't just to land hits; it's to neutralize the threat. Understand?"
Neutralize the threat. Shikamaru filed that away. Different objective entirely. He glanced at his teammates. Naruto looked thrilled by the prospect of fewer rules. Ino looked determined, probably already planning how to 'neutralize' Naruto in the most humiliating way possible while still looking graceful for Kakashi.
"Alright then," Kakashi said, stepping back. "Let's see how this plays out. First up..." His gaze swept over them. "...Shikamaru versus Ino."
Shikamaru dragged himself to the center of the clearing, mirroring Ino as they took their stances. Great. Sparring with Ino. This meant she'd be extra annoying, trying to look good for Kakashi-sensei. More effort required than fighting Naruto, probably. Naruto was predictable brute force; Ino was predictable vanity wrapped in sharp edges. What a drag.
Just as he predicted, Ino struck a pose that was far more dramatic than necessary – one hand elegantly forward, the other back, ponytail positioned just so. Definitely playing to the audience of one silver-haired jounin leaning against a tree, book miraculously reappeared.
"Ready to lose, Shikamaru?" Ino quipped, a competitive fire lighting her eyes.
"Can we just get this over with?" Shikamaru mumbled, shifting his weight slightly. The morning sun was climbing, casting longer shadows now. Useful.
Kakashi gave a lazy nod. "Begin."
Ino exploded forward – well, 'exploded' by Ino standards. It was a flurry of quick, precise kicks and palm strikes, each aimed more to showcase her flexibility and form than to inflict actual damage, Shikamaru noted. Easy reads. He sidestepped the first kick, leaning back just enough to avoid a follow-up chop. Her movements were fluid, he'd give her that, but they screamed 'academy kunoichi drills'. All textbook, no real improvisation. Women fighters, he mused internally while dodging another high kick, always seemed more focused on the how than the what. Too caught up in the dance. Predictable.
He needed to end this fast. Shadow Possession. Obvious, but efficient. Minimal movement required. He glanced at the sun, gauging the angle. His own shadow stretched long and thin behind him. Ino's danced around hers as she pressed her attack, trying to close the distance.
Okay, plan: let her push him back towards the edge of the treeline where the shadows were deeper, more defined. Make her overcommit on an attack near that patch of darker grass. Her focus was clearly on landing a clean hit to impress Kakashi, not on ground conditions or shadow manipulation. Typical.
He feigned a stumble backwards, letting one of her sweeping kicks connect lightly with his forearm – just enough to sell it. "Whoa there," he muttered, exaggerating his retreat.
"Getting slow, lazy bones?" Ino taunted, pressing forward exactly as he'd hoped, eager to capitalize on his supposed mistake. She lunged with a palm strike aimed at his chest. Perfect. Her shadow stretched out directly towards the darker patch he'd targeted.
He dropped low, avoiding the strike easily. Simultaneously, his hands formed the familiar rat seal, chakra gathering at his fingertips. The sun was perfect. Her position was perfect. Her focus was entirely on her attack, not the creeping darkness at her feet. Too easy.
"Shadow Possession Jutsu," he breathed, extending his own shadow like a rapidly darkening tendril across the grass. It surged forward, silent and swift, locking onto the base of Ino's shadow just as her forward momentum carried her fully into the trap. Got her. Now for the boring part of holding her there until Kakashi called it. What a troublesome expenditure of energy
Ino froze mid-lunge, her palm hovering inches from Shikamaru's chest. Her eyes widened, then narrowed in fury as the invisible bind of his shadow took root. He saw the flicker of panic quickly replaced by pure, unadulterated Yamanaka indignation. Her muscles strained against the unseen force, ponytail twitching uselessly.
"Hey! Let go, Shikamaru!" she snapped, though her body remained utterly still, a perfect, infuriated statue mirroring Shikamaru's own relaxed posture.
He let out a slow breath, hands still clasped in the seal. Holding the jutsu wasn't strenuous, exactly, but it was boring. Maintaining the link, feeling the drain on his chakra, however slight, just to keep Ino rooted like a decorative garden plant. All because she couldn't resist showing off. Predictable.
"YEAH! NICE ONE, SHIKAMARU!" Naruto's voice boomed from the sidelines. Shikamaru winced internally. "See, Ino? Told ya he wasn't just sleeping! You got caught good!" Of course, Naruto would interpret 'neutralizing the threat' as 'making Ino look stupid'. Simpleton.
Shikamaru subtly adjusted his own stance, mimicking Ino raising one hand slightly. He watched her expression twist further. Annoying her was a small, petty perk of this tiresome situation. He could make her wave, make her scratch her nose… but nah, too much effort. Just holding her still was enough.
He risked a quick glance towards Kakashi. Their sensei hadn't moved from his spot by the tree. He wasn't reading, at least. His visible eye regarded the scene with that same detached curiosity, like observing insects in a jar. A slight, almost imperceptible nod seemed directed Shikamaru's way. Acknowledgment, maybe? Or maybe he was just nodding off. Hard to tell with that guy.
Honestly, Shikamaru thought, forcing Ino into this checkmate situation felt less like a victory and more like pointing out the obvious. She'd been so focused on flashy moves and looking good for Kakashi, she'd completely ignored the shifting shadows, the tactical terrain. Basic oversight. But that was Ino. Too easily distracted by appearances. It made her fighting style, and probably her, fundamentally flawed. He'd calculated the probability of catching her within five moves; it had taken four. Efficient, at least.
He held the jutsu for another ten seconds, long enough for Ino's glare to reach potentially lethal levels, then let his concentration waver, releasing the seal. His shadow snapped back to its normal shape.
Ino stumbled forward, catching her balance just before she tripped over her own feet. She whirled around, cheeks flushed pink with anger. "That was a cheap trick!"
"Nope," Shikamaru drawled, already turning away. "That was strategy. You walked right into it."
As Shikamaru turned, dismissing Ino's predictable protests, he felt it again – that focused, analytical gaze pinning him for a split second before flicking away. Kakashi. The man hadn't offered praise or critique, just observed the outcome, adding another data point to whatever mental file he was building on them. Shikamaru met the single visible eye briefly. It was like looking at a calm pond – you knew there were depths beneath, currents swirling unseen, but the surface revealed nothing. What was he looking for? Competence? Weakness? Some specific reaction? Annoying. Trying to figure out Kakashi felt like more work than the sparring itself.
"Alright, that's enough," Kakashi's voice cut through Ino's continued indignant sputtering about 'cheap shots'. He pushed off from the tree, tucking his book away somewhere unseen. "Efficient, Shikamaru. Ino, pay attention to your surroundings, not just your opponent's movements." Basic advice, delivered flatly.
Before Ino could argue further, Kakashi gestured towards the center of the clearing again. "Next match." His gaze landed squarely on the bouncing blond. "Naruto."
"YES! FINALLY!" Naruto erupted, punching the air. He looked ready to charge into the ring immediately.
Kakashi's eye then swiveled back to Shikamaru, who was already calculating the fastest route back to his comfortable spot under the tree. "You're up again, Shikamaru."
A collective groan almost escaped Shikamaru's lips. Seriously? Back-to-back matches? Against Naruto, no less? This meant dealing with pure, unadulterated, unpredictable energy. Less tactical finesse required than with Ino, maybe, but infinitely more physically taxing. He could already feel the sweat starting.
"Awww, man," Naruto whined, deflating slightly. "I wanted to fight Kakashi-sensei! Or at least Ino!"
"Just get in the ring, idiot," Ino snapped, still clearly smarting from her defeat. "Maybe Shikamaru can teach you something about not flailing wildly."
"Hey!"
Shikamaru sighed, dragging his feet back towards the center. This day was becoming increasingly troublesome. Sparring with Naruto was like trying to predict a lightning strike – pointless and likely to end with something getting scorched. He just hoped he could end it quickly, before Naruto's endless stamina wore him down completely.
Shikamaru took his place opposite Naruto, letting out another weary sigh. Sparring Naruto. This was going to be loud, messy, and require far too much dodging. Naruto was already bouncing on the balls of his feet, practically radiating hyperactive energy, a wide, slightly manic grin plastered on his face. "Alright, Shikamaru! Don't go easy on me just 'cause we're teammates!"
Easy? Shikamaru almost scoffed. Alright, Naruto. Predictable as ever, already bouncing like an idiot, his thoughts drifted, already plotting the most efficient way to end this annoyance. He'll come straight in, probably that wild right swing he favors. All energy, zero finesse. Just need to step aside... let him barrel past like usual. His balance is always terrible on the follow-through. Easy opening for Shadow Possession. Minimal chakra drain, maybe two seconds of effort. Then, hopefully, Kakashi calls it quick. This is such a—
"Begin," Kakashi drawled, already half-turning back towards his tree.
"Here I come!" Naruto yelled, predictable as sunrise. He launched himself forward—
—And vanished.
Not literally vanished, Shikamaru's brain registered with a jolt, but Naruto crossed the distance between them in a blur of orange that was simply wrong. It wasn't the usual headlong, slightly off-balance rush. This was low, fast, controlled. His calculated sidestep, planned for the clumsy charge, suddenly felt miles too slow.
Before Shikamaru could fully process the shift in speed, Naruto was on him. Not with the telegraphed wild swing he'd anticipated, but with a sharp feint to the left, immediately followed by a blindingly quick jab towards his face. Shikamaru jerked back purely on reflex, the punch whistling past his ear. But the jab wasn't the real attack. It was a setup.
Naruto pivoted on his heel, faster than Shikamaru had ever seen him move, dropping into a powerful leg sweep. The movement was sharp, precise, utterly unlike the flailing kicks Naruto usually threw. Shikamaru's mind scrambled, trying to recalibrate, trying to recalculate the trajectory, the timing—
Too late.
His carefully constructed mental model of 'Naruto Uzumaki: Academy Failure' shattered like cheap glass. The sweep connected solidly with his ankle. Not a clumsy trip, but a targeted, forceful strike designed to buckle the joint. His balance evaporated instantly. He stumbled, arms windmilling instinctively to stay upright.
And in that split second of instability, that fatal moment where his plan dissolved into panicked reaction, Naruto struck again. A solid fist slammed into his side, just below the ribs. There was no wildness to it, just focused impact. The air exploded from Shikamaru's lungs in a sharp, involuntary grunt. Pain, sharp and immediate, flared through his torso. He staggered back several steps, genuinely reeling, stars dancing briefly at the edge of his vision.
He stared at Naruto, who was already crouched low again, knuckles white, eyes blazing with an intensity Shikamaru hadn't seen before, not aimed at him anyway. This wasn't just energetic. This wasn't just clumsy taijutsu fueled by ramen. This was… different. Faster. Stronger. And infinitely more troublesome than he'd ever anticipated. What a drag.
Shikamaru barely had time to register the sharp throb in his side before Naruto was coming again. Another explosive burst of speed, a dizzying flurry of punches aimed high and low. Shikamaru scrambled backwards, parrying desperately, his usual calm analysis fracturing under the relentless pressure. Block left—Naruto feinted, drove a knee towards his gut. Dodge right—a spinning backfist whistled past his temple. Block low—a heavy kick slammed into his thigh, making his leg go numb for a terrifying second.
He tried to counter, tried to create space, maybe land a quick jab to disrupt Naruto's rhythm. Useless. Naruto flowed around his clumsy attempts, anticipating, deflecting, pressing the attack. It was like trying to swat a particularly angry hornet. Every move Shikamaru made seemed two steps behind. His brain, usually mapping out probabilities and counters ten moves ahead, was stuck on loop: Too fast. Where did this speed come from? Can't predict. Pain. Need space.
That leg sweep… that wasn't academy Naruto. The precision, the grounding… that had a different flavor. Was it that Guy-sensei Naruto was always going on about? Had that 'special training' actually… worked? The thought was absurd, yet the evidence was currently rearranging his ribs.
He ducked under another wild haymaker – okay, some of the old Naruto was still there – but the follow-up hook was immediate, catching him on the shoulder, jarring him off balance again. He was purely reacting now, survival instincts kicking in, pushing tactics aside. His lungs burned. Sweat slicked his skin. This wasn't sparring; this was a beatdown.
Need distance. Shadow Possession. Sun's right… but no opening. Too close. He keeps moving… won't stay still. Fragments of thoughts, useless tactical debris scattered by the storm of orange fists.
Naruto yelled, a wordless battle cry, and launched into another combination. Jab, cross, uppercut attempt. Shikamaru managed to block the first two, but the uppercut slipped through his guard, grazing his chin hard enough to make his teeth rattle. He stumbled back again, vision blurring slightly.
He couldn't keep this up. He wasn't built for sustained close-quarters brawling, especially not against… whatever this was. This relentless, surprisingly effective assault. He needed an opening, a pause, anything to reset, to think, to trap that blasted shadow. He needed a distraction. Now.
Another blow slammed into Shikamaru's shoulder, sending jolts of pain down his arm. He gritted his teeth, stumbling back towards the shade cast by one of the larger trees. Gotta get him into the shadow... no, sun's wrong... he's too fast to lead... think…
Naruto pressed forward relentlessly, a whirlwind of orange. "Giving up already, Shikamaru? I'm just getting started!" His grin was wide, confident, maybe a little too confident now. He saw the finish line. Good. Cockiness created openings.
Shikamaru let himself stagger more dramatically than necessary after blocking a particularly heavy punch, collapsing onto one knee near the edge of the dappled sunlight under the tree. He coughed, hunching over slightly, making sure to keep his hands low, seemingly spent. He kept his eyes downcast, tracking Naruto's feet through his peripheral vision. Come on, idiot... take the bait…
Just as he'd calculated, Naruto saw the perceived weakness and lunged. No fancy setup this time, just a straightforward, powerful right cross aimed straight for Shikamaru's exposed head – the knockout blow. He even yelled, "Take this!" Predictable, even in his improved state.
But Shikamaru wasn't focused on blocking the punch. In that fraction of a second, as Naruto committed all his weight and momentum forward, Shikamaru twisted his kneeling body, not away, but towards Naruto's incoming fist, pivoting sharply on his grounded knee. It wasn't about dodging; it was about alignment. For one instant, as Naruto's fist flew towards where
Shikamaru's head had been, Naruto's own body cast a sharp, defined shadow directly over Shikamaru's outstretched hand on the ground.
The world snapped into focus. The pain receded. His mind, finally given that sliver of opportunity, clicked back online. The rat seal formed almost subconsciously.
"Gotcha," Shikamaru breathed, voice rough.
His shadow surged, not far, just inches, instantly latching onto Naruto's.
Naruto froze solid, mid-punch. His fist hovered mere centimeters from Shikamaru's cheek, knuckles white, arm fully extended. His forward momentum left him precariously balanced, leaning heavily over his front foot, face contorted in a mask of surprise rapidly morphing into outrage.
Shikamaru slowly pushed himself back up, wincing as his bruised ribs protested. He kept the shadow lock tight, forcing Naruto to maintain that awkward, suspended pose. Panting slightly, Shikamaru looked up at his teammate, frozen like a badly timed photograph.
"You're fast, Naruto," Shikamaru admitted, his voice regaining some of its usual lazy drawl despite the lingering ache. "Really fast. But you still charge straight ahead." He gestured vaguely with his free hand. "Speed doesn't matter if you run right into the trap."
He saw Kakashi observing from the treeline, that single eye betraying nothing. Ino looked momentarily stunned silent.
Shikamaru held the pose, shadow locked tight, Naruto still frozen mid-punch like some kind of bizarre orange statue. Okay, done. He'd weathered the storm, laid the trap, sprung it. Naruto was immobilized, neutralized. Threat contained. Now, just wait for Kakashi to call it. He glanced expectantly towards their sensei.
Kakashi watched, leaning against his tree, hands back in his pockets. His visible eye was unreadable, offering neither approval nor dismissal. The silence stretched, punctuated only by Naruto's increasingly frustrated grunts as he strained against the shadow's hold and Ino muttering something under her breath about Naruto being an idiot for getting caught.
Still nothing from Kakashi.
Shikamaru frowned internally. The fight was over. Naruto couldn't move, couldn't attack. Continuing was pointless. Unless… Ah. Another layer. Of course. Kakashi wasn't just watching if he could catch Naruto; he was watching what he'd do now that he had him. This wasn't academy sparring where a clear advantage ended the match. This was about 'neutralizing the threat'. Did that mean forcing a submission? Making Naruto verbally tap out?
He could do it easily. Maintain the hold, slowly force Naruto's own fist towards his face. Make him punch himself, maybe? No, too flashy, too much effort. Just keep him there, make him squirm, maybe force him to verbally concede defeat. "Say uncle," or the shinobi equivalent. It wouldn't take much more chakra, just prolonged concentration. Checkmate, not just check. That's what Kakashi wanted to see, wasn't it? Whether he had the ruthlessness, the drive to secure absolute victory, not just tactical advantage.
"Let go, Shikamaru! This isn't fair!" Naruto yelled, straining so hard a vein pulsed in his temple.
Shikamaru considered it. Make Naruto admit defeat. Secure the 'win' Kakashi was clearly evaluating. Prove he could be decisive... But honestly? It felt like unnecessary paperwork after the actual job was done. He'd stopped Naruto's attack, figured out the counter to his new speed, and executed his plan flawlessly. He'd won. Forcing Naruto to actually say it? Making him stand there awkwardly while Shikamaru played puppet master? What a complete and utter drag. Way too much trouble for a sparring match.
With a mental shrug, Shikamaru let his concentration lapse. The shadow connecting them dissolved, snapping back to his feet like a retracting rubber band.
Naruto, suddenly released mid-strain, lurched forward from the momentum of his own frozen punch, stumbling several steps before catching his balance. He whirled around, looking utterly bewildered, then furious. "Hey! Why'd you just let go? I didn't give up!"
"I give up. You won, Naruto," Shikamaru mumbled, already turning away and stretching his arms, feigning indifference. He ignored the sharp, assessing look he could feel from Kakashi. He knew what the sensei was probably thinking – smart, but lazy. No follow-through. Whatever. He'd won his way. Minimal effort expended. That was good enough. Time for someone else to sweat.
Shikamaru had already taken two steps towards the blessed shade of the tree when Kakashi's voice, deceptively mild, cut through the clearing.
"Match over, Shikamaru?"
Just that. A simple question. But Shikamaru stopped, his shadow freezing momentarily on the grass before him. He didn't turn around, just tilted his head slightly, listening to the birds chirping, the rustle of leaves, the residual indignant huffing from Naruto.
The implication hung heavy in the air, thicker than the morning humidity. Is that really all you've got? You had him cornered, helpless, and you just… stopped? You didn't secure the win? You didn't neutralize the threat completely? Kakashi wasn't asking if the fight was over; he was asking if Shikamaru's effort was over. He was probing that precise point of calculated minimum effort Shikamaru always aimed for.
Shikamaru mentally replayed the last few seconds. Yeah, he could have held Naruto there indefinitely. Could have forced him down, made him tap out, rubbed his nose in the tactical blunder. It wouldn't have been hard. Just tedious. More focus, more chakra drain, more standing around in the sun while Naruto yelled. All to prove a point Kakashi had likely already deduced anyway – that Shikamaru could be decisive if he felt like it.
But he didn't feel like it. He'd already solved the puzzle. Finding the solution was the interesting part; carrying out the tedious final steps was just work. Unnecessary work.
He finally turned, just enough to glance back at their sensei over his shoulder. Kakashi was watching him, that single eye patient, waiting.
"Yeah," Shikamaru drawled, letting out a deliberate yawn that stretched his jaw. "Match over." He gave a vague wave towards Naruto, who still looked confused and ready to argue. "He can have the win. Troublesome."
He saw the flicker in Kakashi's eye – not disappointment, not approval, just… acknowledgment. Like he'd confirmed another variable in the Shikamaru equation. Fine by him. Let Kakashi think whatever he wanted. Shikamaru ambled back towards his tree. Nap time was calling.
The savory steam curling up from the bowls of ramen fogged the air, mingling with the comfortable clatter of chopsticks and contented slurps. Ichiraku felt blessedly normal, an anchor in the turbulent waters of the past few weeks. Iruka watched Naruto across the narrow counter, the boy attacking his miso ramen with a familiar, ferocious intensity. It was good to see him eating properly again, even if the usual non-stop chatter was conspicuously absent.
Naruto paused mid-slurp, catching Iruka's gaze. He offered a quick, slightly strained grin before burying his face back in the bowl. Iruka returned the smile, though his own felt tight around the edges. They'd fallen into this pattern since the hospital – surface-level cheerfulness, careful conversation, a wide berth given to the burning forest clearing and the treachery that had unfolded there. The faint yellowish bruising still shadowed the skin beneath Naruto's jawline, a silent testament Iruka tried very hard not to stare at.
"So," Iruka began, swirling a piece of chashu pork in his own broth, keeping his tone light. "First official day with Team 7. How did it go?" He focused on picking up some stray bamboo shoots, avoiding Naruto's eyes for a moment. He'd heard Kakashi was… unconventional.
Naruto slammed his chopsticks down, some broth splashing onto the counter. Teuchi didn't even flinch, long used to the boy's antics. "It was awesome! Well, kinda." He puffed out his chest slightly. "We totally passed Kakashi-sensei's test yesterday, believe it! He tried all these tricks, but we worked together!" The initial burst of pride flickered, replaced by a frown that creased his forehead protector – Iruka's old protector, still bearing that sharp, silver scratch.
"But today…" Naruto's shoulders slumped. He stabbed viciously at a narutomaki fish cake. "Today was just boring drills. And then sparring." He mumbled the last word into his bowl.
Iruka waited. He knew that tone. "Sparring?" he prompted gently.
Naruto looked up, indignation flaring in his blue eyes. "Yeah! I sparred Shikamaru! And I totally had him! My taijutsu was awesome, way faster than before!" He demonstrated with a few air punches that nearly knocked over his water cup. "But then…" His energy deflated again, leaving behind a raw frustration. "He just caught me with those stupid shadows! Just like that!" He snapped his fingers sharply. "It's not fair! Even after all my training... He didn't even have to try that hard, just used his clan's jutsu."
He glared down at his ramen as if it were Shikamaru's fault. "It's always like this! How am I supposed to be Hokage if everyone else has these amazing jutsu and I'm stuck just… punching and kicking?" The words were tight, choked with a familiar helplessness that made Iruka's own chest ache.
Iruka stirred his cooling broth, the image of Hiruzen explaining the powerful seal – designed to contain a demon, inadvertently suppressing the boy's own potential – flashing through his mind. He saw the countless hours Naruto spent trying to master a simple clone, the despair warring with stubbornness. Mizuki's poisoned words echoed unwanted: No wonder you're a failure…
He pushed the thought away, focusing on the boy before him, radiating frustration and wounded pride. "Naruto," Iruka said, his voice quiet but firm. Naruto glanced up warily. "Shikamaru won with strategy, using the tools he does have. Ninjutsu isn't everything." He saw Naruto open his mouth to protest, the familiar 'but it helps!' argument ready. Iruka preempted him. "Your taijutsu has improved, dramatically by the sounds of it. You surprised him, didn't you?"
Naruto visibly deflated at the mention of surprising Shikamaru. He slumped further over the counter, poking listlessly at a remaining noodle with his chopstick. "Yeah, maybe," he mumbled, his gaze fixed on the swirling broth, completely missing the point Iruka was trying to make. The compliment on his improved taijutsu seemed to bounce right off him, lost in the shadow of the final outcome.
"But it didn't matter," Naruto suddenly insisted, looking up again, his voice regaining its frustrated edge. "He still caught me! He just stood there, looking all bored like always, and BAM! Shadows everywhere!" He waved his hands emphatically, nearly upsetting the soy sauce dispenser. "It's cheap! He didn't even break a sweat, and I was giving it everything!"
Iruka opened his mouth to counter, to talk about conserving energy, about how making it look effortless was a sign of Shikamaru's skill, about how Naruto's own relentless assault had created the very opening Shikamaru exploited... but he stopped himself. He saw the stubborn set to Naruto's jaw, the way his blue eyes were narrowed, not in thought, but in pure, mulish frustration. He wasn't hearing the words; he was only hearing the perceived injustice. He was trapped in the familiar cycle: I can't do ninjutsu, therefore I lose, therefore it's unfair.
Iruka watched him shove another huge mouthful of ramen into his mouth, chewing aggressively. The ramen, usually a source of pure joy, seemed more like fuel for his simmering resentment right now. Trying to lecture him on tactics when he felt so fundamentally disadvantaged by his lack of ninjutsu... it was like trying to teach a fish to climb a tree. Pointless, for the moment.
With a quiet internal sigh, Iruka let the silence settle back between them, broken only by the rhythmic sounds of Naruto demolishing his second bowl. Sometimes, the best lesson was simply letting the steam blow off. He'd try again later. For now, maybe the ramen itself was teaching enough. He pushed his own, now mostly cold, bowl aside. "Need another bowl?" he asked, gesturing for Teuchi.
Naruto looked up, momentarily surprised, then a flicker of his usual grin returned. "Yeah! Make it extra large, believe it!"
Maybe, Iruka thought, watching Naruto eagerly await his third serving, just being here, sharing a meal without the world crashing down around them, was the most important thing right now. The rest could wait.
Author's Note:
Yes. We are back. And it's gonna be amazing. Love you guys ;)
Also edit, I didn't include Naruto vs. Ino not because I didn't know how to "make Naruto lose." Of course Naruto stomps Ino, it's just the chapter is already filled with a bunch of fighting I wanted to move on, since it wouldn't exactly be important to show it on screen. Of course, they do spar off camera!