Chapter 21: Adjustment and Aftertaste
The sand of Training Ground Three shimmered in the afternoon heat, the air itself seeming to twist. Shūji stood in the center of the field, his gaze sweeping over the two figures before him.
Uchiha Itachi stood straight in his dark blue clan robes. Sweat dripped down his young, tense face, his eyes locked on his opponent. At eight years old, his frame looked especially slender in the wide-open training ground.
Mitarashi Anko was in a faded black mesh shirt and shorts, her purple hair stuck to her forehead with sweat. She stood with her hands in her pockets, an air of complete apathy about her, glancing sideways at the "on-guard" Itachi.
"This is a practical assessment," Shūji's voice cut through the hot air. "To see how you two coordinate. Rules: stop when a hit is made. Begin."
Shh! Shh! Shh!
Itachi moved first, leaving only a faint afterimage. His speed, which would have been ghostly to others his age, was still clear and traceable to Anko's eyes.
Three shuriken tore through the air, aimed with vicious precision at her shoulder and knees—non-lethal, but disabling.
Anko let out a small "Hn." Her body, like a compressed spring, suddenly released. Her movement was fast and fluid, carrying the unique, cunning grace of the taijutsu taught by Orochimaru. With just a single, precise sidestep, the shuriken whistled past her, burying themselves deep in the sand behind her.
"Fire Style: Flame Bullet!" The instant she landed, her hands flew through seals. Three dense, orange-red fireballs, arranged in a triangle, roared toward Itachi!
They were incredibly fast, their trajectory straight, and they instantly sealed off his forward escape with a wave of searing heat.
Itachi's pupils shrank. He hadn't even activated his Sharingan. Faced with the direct, high-speed assault, he slammed his foot down and threw himself to the right.
The fireballs roared past his left arm, the heat stinging his skin. The force of the shockwave threw him off balance, and he stumbled back.
"Hmph!" Anko saw him lose his footing. Her right hand shot from her sleeve like a viper.
"Hidden Shadow Snake Hands!" Two thick, gray-brown snakes, reeking of a foul odor, shot out like arrows. They lunged, one from the left and one from the right, at the ankles of the still-unbalanced Itachi!
In that split second, Itachi's eyes turned crimson. Two black tomoe spun to life in their blood-red field. The snakes' attack trajectory, their every muscle twitch, suddenly became crystal clear, slowed down.
He twisted his body, forcing himself into an awkward, unbalanced posture. The two snakes hissed past, their cold scales brushing his leg, making his hair stand on end. He had dodged, but he had lost his center of gravity and was now falling backward.
Anko kicked off the ground, shooting forward like a cannonball, intending to pin him down.
In that flash, Itachi's tomoe spun wildly. He didn't try to fight the fall. He let his body go, falling back as if his spine had snapped. And in that instant, as Anko charged, her mind still dulled from her long depression, he struck.
A Sharingan genjutsu, straight into her mind.
Anko's fist was an inch from Itachi's ribs when the sharpness in her eyes suddenly froze, replaced by a blank, consuming terror.
Cold specimen tubes... harsh white lights... and those snake-like pupils, turning to leave without a trace of affection. The deeply buried, horrific memory flashed and was gone.
Although she broke the illusion in a split second, her body's movements, under that mental assault, had undeniably faltered.
I... I was caught by an eight-year-old's genjutsu?!
That was all the time he needed.
Poof!
The "Itachi" her fist struck dissolved into a block of wood. The real Itachi, using the priceless, tiny opening the genjutsu had bought him, was now at her back, in her blind spot.
The cold tip of a kunai pressed steadily against the cloth on her back. It didn't break the skin. It was just there.
Time seemed to freeze.
Anko was stuck in her punching pose. The cold point at her back, and the sound of a child's light panting behind her, were both unmistakably real.
"That's enough," Shūji's voice broke the silence.
Itachi immediately pulled back, the tomoe in his eyes fading. His young face was flushed from the exertion, his chest heaving slightly, but his gaze was as calm as ever. He silently wiped the sweat from his brow and walked to the edge of the field, taking a small sip from his water bottle.
Anko slowly, stiffly, turned around, her movements like a rusty puppet's.
A cold tide of defeat washed over her. I lost... I actually lost... to...
Is this why you abandoned me, Orochimaru-sensei...?
Her head snapped up, all the blood draining from her face, her lips pressed into a thin, white line. Finally, all her emotion coalesced into a single, violent punch against a nearby training post.
THUD!
A deep fist-print was left in the hard wood.
Shūji looked at Itachi, who was quietly drinking his water, and then at the frozen Anko. He didn't speak. He walked to the corner of the field and picked up a cloth-wrapped bundle he'd brought.
Inside weren't ninja tools, but several onigiri, neatly wrapped in green leaves, and a small bamboo canteen of tea.
"Take a break." Shūji's voice, calm and casual, broke the suffocating silence. He took out two rice balls, handing one to Itachi, and carrying the other over to Anko. He didn't look at her, just held it out.
Anko flinched, her shoulders rigid as stone.
"I steamed the rice before I left. Made them myself. Teriyaki chicken. They're pretty good," Shūji said, as if just making small talk. "We're done fighting. You should eat."
Anko whipped her head around, her eyes flashing with a frustration and shame that was about to boil over. "I don't—"
Before she could finish, the rich, savory scent of rice, chicken, and sweet-salty sauce hit her. The warm, solid smell of real food—so different from the sour, stale air of her apartment—was like a soft feather, unexpectedly stroking her tightly-wound nerves.
The rest of her protest died in her throat.
Shūji didn't press. He just held the onigiri out, steady. Then, he leaned against the post himself, unwrapped his own, took a bite, and poured a cup of tea, setting it on the ground. He looked as casual as if he were relaxing in his own backyard.
Itachi ate his onigiri in small, neat bites, the flavor of the chicken making him chew a little faster, silently replenishing his energy.
Anko looked at Shūji's calm profile, then at the fragrant rice ball, then at the fist-print on the post. The storm of emotion inside her was unexpectedly calmed by the warm steam and her captain's utterly unfazed attitude. All that was left was a deep, anchorless exhaustion and confusion.
After a few seconds, with a "what-the-hell" look, she snatched the onigiri and took a huge, angry bite, as if to spite it. The teriyaki sauce and tender chicken exploded in her mouth. The sheer satisfaction of the food managed to suppress some of her shame, but the humiliation of having her weakness so easily exposed still weighed on her.
The three of them ate in silence. Shūji made no comment on the fight.
When the onigiri were gone, Shūji packed up the wrappers, stood, and dusted the sand from his pants. He walked back to the center of the field and looked at Itachi, who had mostly recovered, and then at Anko, who was still dark and moody.
"Recovered?" Shūji's voice was level. "Alright. Next, you two attack me together."
Anko's head snapped up. She was startled, then her eyes lit with a new, fierce light—a mix of defiance, curiosity, and a desperate need to prove something. She looked at Itachi, then at her infuriatingly calm captain.
Itachi's eyes sharpened instantly. He and Anko's gazes met. No words were needed. A temporary, fragile alliance was formed.
"Fine!" Anko barked. She didn't charge. Her hands blurred. "Ninja Art: Binding Snake Glare!"
Several chakra-snakes shot out, not at Shūji, but around him, sealing his escape routes. At the same instant, "Fire Style: Dragon Fire Jutsu!" A high-pressure line of fire shot straight at Shūji's chest.
Just as the jutsu fired, Itachi vanished. He didn't follow the main attack, but used his speed to instantly flank Shūji's blind spot. His hands flew, and a volley of shuriken shot out on a perfect, curving trajectory, aimed at Shūji's knees and ankles! It was timed to the millisecond—just as the fire was about to hit!
Suppression and a blind-side ambush. Perfect coordination.
Faced with the two-pronged attack, Shūji's expression didn't change.
"Water Style: Water Formation Wall!"
A thick wall of water erupted, blocking the fire. HSSSS! A cloud of steam exploded outward.
In that exact same instant, Shūji's body shifted, moving half a step to the side. It was a tiny movement, but it was just enough. Itachi's shuriken whistled past, burying themselves in the sand. At the same time, Shūji casually waved his right hand.
"Wind Style: Wind Counter!"
A powerful, swirling vortex of air formed at his side, catching Anko's snakes. The chakra-constructs were torn apart.
"Ninja Art: Multiple Hidden Shadow Snake Hands!" This time, eight real snakes shot from her sleeves, attacking high, middle, and low!
Shūji, as the snakes neared, simply leaned back and stamped his foot.
"Earth Style: Rock Pillar!"
Two sharp stone spikes shot from the sand, impaling the two low-slung snakes, pinning them.
Itachi used the opening, his Sharingan blazing, and closed in again, his kunai aimed for the opening at Shūji's ribs!
As if he had eyes in his back, Shūji spun, the kunai scraping nothing but air. He faced Itachi, his hands already finished with new seals.
"Wind Style: Wind Blade Jutsu!"
Several invisible, razor-sharp blades of wind shrieked toward Itachi, locking onto his joints!
Itachi's Sharingan saw the attack paths. He was completely boxed in! He could only lean back, crossing his kunai to block.
CLANG! CLANG!
The impact sent a numbing shock up Itachi's arms, knocking him back several steps.
Anko seized the moment. "Fire Style: Snake Fang Volley!" She spat out a dozen small, dense, fist-sized fireballs that tracked Shūji, homing in on his vitals from all angles!
Shūji, still calm, formed his seals.
"Earth Style: Earth-Style Wall!"
A thick wall of rock erupted, shielding him completely. The fireballs exploded harmlessly against it. Anko was panting heavily from the chakra drain.
"Stop."
The wall crumbled. Shūji dusted off his sleeves. He wasn't even breathing hard.
"I have a good idea now," Shūji said, looking at the two of them. "We'll meet here for the next few days to work on tactics."
"Of course," he said, holding up a finger, "this kind of training uses a lot of energy. As your captain, I'll take responsibility..."
Itachi, having been through this before, just calmly took a sip of water.
"Let's go get some energy. My treat," Shūji smiled. "After all that... how about some yakiniku?"