While not the last fight for the Academy students, the last fight for the reincarnates had arrived.
"Cheiko Uchiha. Mori Fūma. Come to the front." The instructor called.
Cheiko Uchiha had long black hair and black eyes. She wore all black–undershirt, pants, boots, jacket, gloves–and a Japanese short sword hung from her waist, a tanto. Meanwhile, the Uchiha crest–the white and red fan–was etched proudly, centerpiece, on her back.
In response, Mori Fūma set her stance carefully. She kept her feet shoulder-width apart, knees bent, hands raised in a textbook guard. Her expression was focused. Her black eyes unmoving, as they laid upon the girl across from her.
Cheiko Uchiha's eyes were sharp, dark, and burned with unrestrained irritation. Every loss her class had suffered lingered behind her. Each loss a distinct embarrassment.
The instructor's arm dropped.
"Begin!"
Neither girl moved.
Mori Fūma expected the Uchiha girl to rush. She expected her arrogance to drive her to end it quickly.
But Cheiko did not move. Instead, she starred at Mori. She leaned her cheek forward and patted it with her finger.
"Come on now." She taunted. "Show me what makes 2A so great."
Mori had no other choice. She stepped in with a clean jab meant to test the distance. Then, she followed with a mid-level kick. The combination was smooth and practiced–it was exactly what the Academy had taught.
Cheiko slightly tilted her head and stepped aside.
The punch passed inches away from her cheek and the kick struck nothing but air.
In retaliation, Cheiko struck Mori in the ribs. Just once. Firm. Another gauge for 2A.
But Mori managed to block it. The impact pushed her back a step, her sandals slid across the dirt as she recovered.
The two girls circled each other.
"You can barely tell the difference when they move like that." Shuzo Nara commented.
"Yeah they really do look similar."
"Thankfully Mori-chan's hair is cut shorter."
"Yeah." Voices echoed in agreement.
"Hey!" Okuda suddenly spoke up. "Are the Uchiha goths?"
"What?" Ando retorted.
"What does 'goth' mean?" Shuzo Nara asked.
"OH! Haha.." Okuda scratched the back of his head awkwardly.
"It means they like especially dark aesthetics: like black clothing." Natsuko Sarutobi took over.
"Goth, huh?" Shuzo Nara repeated the unfamiliar term.
Back on the field, Mori Fūma attacked again, only faster this time. She launched two punches then chained into a sweeping kick. Cheiko Uchiha blocked the first punch with her forearm, redirected the second, then cleanly hopped over the kick.
Her rhythm remained unbroken.
"Tch!" She clicked her tongue. "Tell me this isn't your best? Pitiful."
The Uchiha girl advanced. Her movements were short and quick, almost minimal–all precise angles and heightened senses. She didn't rush. She slowly invaded until Mori was forced to respond to her antics.
Cheiko threw a quick feint high. Then, she slipped within Mori's guard and struck her shoulder–two jabs with precision meant to hurt.
"Too slow." She remarked.
Mori Fūma's face flushed. Then, she recklessly retaliated with a flurry of strikes aimed at Cheiko. Mori pushed back hard and she drove Cheiko back several steps. Her fists snapped forward with honest force, and for a moment, it appeared even.
Then, Cheiko Uchiha adjusted.
She altered her weight, mixed up her rhythm–and suddenly the gap became obvious.
Cheiko parried a punch and answered with a sharp elbow that cut into Mori's side. Pain flared throughout her body. In the next moment, Cheiko swept low and Mori leapt back.
A shuriken cut through the air! In an instant, Cheiko had launched several.
Mori ripped a kunai from her waistband and deflected the first shuriken, then the second. Both shot to the ground and buried into the dirt–only for a third to curve in from an unexpected angle.
The shuriken tore across Mori's shoulder. Instantly, blood sprayed.
But when Mori looked back up to find her opponent, Cheiko was already gone.
She vanished forward.
Mori Fūma barely had time to raise her arms before the first blow landed–a curled fist to the liver that knocked the breath out of her lungs. A kick followed that cracked against her thigh and sent her stumbling to the side.
Cheiko Uchiha did not let up.
Punch. Palm. Kick. Sweep.
Mori hit the dirt and rolled desperately, she scrambled to her feet only to be hit again and again. Each impact was precise, controlled–just enough to keep her still standing–but it was relentless all the same.
"You are weak." Cheiko said amidst punches.
Mori Fūma struggled to rise. She kept one hand pressed against her side, her breath was ragged, meanwhile, as she lifted her head and parted her lips.
"I–"
Cheiko slammed her foot into Mori's mouth.
"No!" She snapped. "You don't get to stop!" She said laced with venom.
Mori's vision wavered. She laid on the ground sprawled out. Her heart pounded. Her head thudded. Everything hurt. She tried to raise her hand weakly, tried to surrender.
The Uchiha girl grabbed her wrist and yanked her back to her feet, only to slam her back down into the ground again.
"Uchiha don't lose!" She shouted, a fist raised above Mori's head
"Uchiha dominate!" She said with icy fury.
"Enough." The instructor appeared and caught Cheiko's raining fist.
He stepped in between the two girls and the impact of catching Cheiko's fist echoed throughout the training grounds as she was soon stopped cold.
"That's enough, Cheiko." He said more firmly.
The Uchiha girl glared up at him, chest still heaving, eyes blazing with unspent rage. For a moment, it looked like she might resist.
Then, she ripped her arm free and stepped back.
Silence fell.
Mori Fūma laid in the dirt, breathing shallow but conscious. Their Sensei, Takegi Yugotake, rushed in to take her to the Konoha Hospital.
"Match over!" Classroom 1A's instructor announced.
He faced Cheiko Uchiha next. "Victory does not mean cruelty. I urge you to remember that."
The girl said nothing. She turned and walked away, returned to her seat, where the other Uchiha boy smiled and gloated–clearly satisfied with her performance.
With that, Round 1 of the tournament had finally concluded. Every student had competed once. In other words, half the students were eliminated. Next month, when the monthly exams returned, the subsequent brackets would be made using the results from today's bouts. The winners will face other winners until, at the end of the year, one student stands above them all.
The losers, of course, will then face other losers and as time goes on there will only be more and more losers from the winner's bracket to further compete within the loser's bracket.
An hour later. Konoha Hospital.
The medical ward smelled of antiseptic and of medicinal herbs, clean and sharp in a way that made everything feel sterile. There was no sunlight streaking through the windows. The sun had already quieted.
It was dusk and few medical shinobi were on staff at this hour. It wasn't late, per se, but it wasn't early either.
Mori Fūma laid in a white bed with pillows propped behind her. She was wrapped in bandages and gauze–her torso was covered to secure a fractured rib, her shoulder's laceration still bled pink through the gauze, and deep, purple and black bruises bloomed underneath her skin like dark clouds beneath the sky.
Although short-staffed, a medical-nin stood beside Mori's futon, clipboard in hand.
"The rib fracture is stable, but no sparring and no training for the following two weeks. The concussion is mild, but we're keeping her overnight for observation." The medical-nin said calmly.
"Can I practice chakra control?" Mori asked before the female ninja left.
"Absolutely not." She said without hesitation. "You need to preserve your energy stores for healing. Expelling them will only slow down your recovery." Then, the medical-nin turned and left.
Ando Kaze watched suspiciously as she left. "Why didn't they just heal you?" He asked.
"Because we're too young." Mori Fūma replied.
"What? I don't recall such a thing from Naruto." Ando said.
"Naruto had enough natural vitality to never be at risk."
"At risk of what?"
"Our bodies don't have enough physical energy yet. Sure, if we're in a pinch, a medical-nin could tap into our vitality and heal us instantly, but that vitality could be the difference between becoming six foot tall versus five-eleven. Or at least, that's how she explained it to me." Mori said.
"That makes sense to me." Natsuko Sarutobi added.
Ando huffed. "I guess it makes sense, but it still sucks."
"How are you feeling?" Natsuko asked.
"Numb." Mori said. "Pissed off."
"Yeah that was crazy." Okuda commented.
"I–I tried to forfeit.. I–" Mori started, but she couldn't bring herself to finish. Tears welled in her eyes and dropped down her cheeks. She clenched her fists.
"I didn't do anything to her.." Mori choked out.
"We know.." Natsuko grabbed Mori's hand and squeezed it gently.
"We're here for you, Mori." Sen Aburame said from the sidelines.
"I just–" Mori wiped the tears from her eyes. "I don't want to feel powerless again.."
This time, it was Ando who grabbed her other hand. "Then we won't be!" He said.
"We'll train. We'll practice. We'll do whatever it takes to never feel hopeless again!" Ando Kaze squeezed her hand tight.
"Right guys?" He flashed his always-vibrant smile.
"Yeah!!" Okuda readily agreed. "We'll become legendary!"
The kids smiled at Okuda's energy. A small smirk even tugged at the corner of Mori's lip.
"I don't know about all that, but I know we'll be here for you always. Promise." Natsuko Sarutobi looped her pinky around Mori's–and a pinky promise was born.