Masaru sat down in his seat heavily, hanging his head back and letting his eyes rest. As always, his hair was still damp from his shower after his morning training, and he hadn't bothered to dry it. It'd just end up spiking even more if he did that.
He let out another sigh as he felt someone sit down next to him. Glancing up, he saw that Izumi had once again claimed the seat beside him. He let out a soft chuckle.
It wasn't as if she wanted to be friends with him or anything, rather she sat next to him because he had chosen the quietest part of the room so he could catch some sleep between lessons, and she hated being bothered.
Masaru let out another sigh as Chunin Kotetsu strolled into the room. He was an average sized man, being somewhere just under six foot. He had sharp eyes and an even sharper tongue, though he rarely spoke unless he needed to. He's a civilian shinobi who was forced from field work after losing his arm.
His eyes drifted to the man's right hand, where a jagged but smooth scar cut it in half just below the elbow. It had been reattached, however it had been detached too long and caused him to lose feeling and fine motor control in his hand.
As Kotetsu prepared for their lesson on mathmatics, Masaru's thoughts drifted to his personal teacher, Genin Maruboshi. He'd lost his leg decades ago, but he'd never quit field work. The man had lived through all three shinobi wars as a Genin and lived.
'He carries an unfortunate amount of weight. Something happened, but it doesn't feel right asking...Maybe he'll tell me on his own one day.'
"Okay class, today we're going to use math to throw kunai. We will look at how much force it is thrown at, how much it weighs, what angle do you release it at, these are..."
---
It was time for yet another beating.
Masaru took slow, deep breaths as he dropped low to stretch. Tonight was going to be a long night, he though to himself, staring across at Aburame Shou who was also warming up.
Shou, like all Aburame, constantly wore eyewear. His were dome-like, covering both eyes and making it look like one dark, bug-like eye. The boy had black hair and fair skin, and his build was thicker than most of his clanmates.
Shou wasn't the best at taijutsu, but compared to him he was a god send. He could see the callouses that kissed his knuckles, the same ones which were growing over his own.
He glanced from them, then Shou's 'eye,' giving his opponent a nod, which was surprisingly returned.
Masaru had been rapidly improving, and it kind of scared his classmates. Of course none would admit it, especially the clan members, but a persistent thought consistently wormed its way into their heads. 'If he's improved this much in two months, where will he be by graduation?'
None would admit it, especially Toru, but the thought that the weak and frail newcomer might catch up to five years of effort in nine months terrified them.
Soon enough, both sides were sufficiently warmed up, and Kotetsu Sensei gestured for them to come together. "As always keep it civil but fight to win."
Masaru and Shou completed the sign of confrontation. There was a silent moment, where both sides sized up their opponent, before they both moved simultaneously.
The two of them lowered their hips, and leaning foreword, burst off their feet. Shou started with a jab aiming for Masaru's face, to which he ducked under. Coming up with an uppercut that was blocked with a palm, Masaru leaned back as a fist crashed into his cheek.
His head whipped to the side as he gathered his feet under him, brining his fists up over his face and hunching his back, curling into himself while his eyes recovered.
Shou was not merciful. A series of dense hits landed all acrost his body in succession. Punches, kicks, elbows- they rained down on him from all over.
Masaru's head whipped to the side as a solid hit landed on his chin. His vision went blurry, and he felt his body list to the side. The last thing he saw before everything faded to black was Kotetsu's back, blocking Shou from finishing the job.
---
The air smelled of sterile chemicals and metal as consciousness returned. Masaru groaned, painfully shifting his body to an upright position. He opened his eyes, blinking away the blurry-ness to see his torso covered in bandages, bruises peeking from the white mesh.
He looked around to find himself in the nurse's office, the curtains had been drawn, and it confused him as to why before he caught sight of a figure sitting next to him. Maruboshi, who appeared to have been waiting for him to wake.
"Maruboshi Sensei..." Masaru muttered weakly, but the words died in his lungs and his gaze fell to his hands resting in his lap.
The old man studied him for a long moment, his aged eyes searching the boy's for something. "...Young Masaru, what do you fight for?"
Masaru frowned, not confused at the strange question. "Why do you ask?"
Maruboshi sighed. "...The Will of Fire is...different for every shinobi. It is the flame in their chest in which burns their greatest hopes and dreams, but also their fears."
Masaru stayed silent as he listened to the older man's words. His thoughts however, continued to drift.
"For every shinobi, it is important that they know what they fight for...A shinobi is more than the chakra they wield."
'Hopes and dreams, huh?...What do I hope for?' His thoughts found their way to something he had pointedly avoided thinking of ever since he'd arrived here- His mother.
He could still smell her. Roses and lavender- her favorite perfume. He could hear the sizzle of the skillet in the morning as she prepared his favorite food. He could feel the warmth of her arms, just before he drove away for college. He still missed the taste of her cooking, a feeling he picked up there. But the image of her in his mind hurt him.
Her face. Her smile. It was...fading. He still remembers the color of her eyes, how they turned golden in the sunlight. He remembered the how he felt when she beamed at how well he was doing in class. But he could not remember her smile. The shapes and colors shifted, and never stayed the same, his mind inventing the memory of a memory of the woman who raised him.
It was a pit in his chest, as he finally allowed himself to admit it- He was forgetting her. The feeling sapped his what little strength he had.
'A shinobi is more than the chakra they wield.' Maruboshi's words found him in the sadness.
'What do I want? I want to go home. I want to crawl into bed with mom, like I did when I was a kid, and close my eyes without the fear of waking up in this hellhole.' Frustration in his chest bloomed into something warmer, hotter. His eyes regained a glint he didn't know he'd lost.
'But more than anything I want to survive. It doesn't matter how tired I am, or how much I just want to rot in bed, I won't allow myself die in a place like this. No, I refuse to die!'
Masaru's head slowly lifted, his eyes lighting with a fire inside, and made eye contact with Maruboshi.
"I'm fighting survive. It doesn't matter how many times I fall, I'll get back again. Blood, sweat, tears, I'll put everything in my power to make it out alive!" Masaru yelled, suddenly feeling out of breath, his heart beating like a war drum in his chest.
The old man searched his eyes again, and it seemed he'd found what he was looking for. Maruboshi's lips stretched into a faint smile, and he nodded, standing up. "We will see just how true your words are tomorrow morning then. Rest well, Masaru, I will see you then."
As he walked out, the nurse reappeared, a sly smile on her face. "Why hello there Mr Survivor! Now if you don't mind, let me finish patching you up so you can go home and rest."
Masaru's head dipped down as heat spread across his cheeks. "Damn, now I wish I hadn't said all of that..."