"Want to move around a bit?"
Having easily coaxed Karura—who wasn't really sulking anyway—Hii Kōri twisted his neck and issued a duel invitation to Pakura.
Writing on the scroll for two or three hours had left him somewhat backache. Gotta exercise.
"Sure!"
Hearing this, Pakura perked up immediately.
This was her specialty. Sealing techniques, medical ninjutsu—sounded so troublesome.
"Oh right, Kōri—can you not use Ukon?"
Eagerly running to the door, Pakura suddenly thought of something and turned back.
Watching him handle two opponents without breaking a sweat, she'd assumed that was his taijutsu limit. Who knew that armed, he was like a Souls-like boss entering phase two?
Big Windmill into Big Windmill into Big Windmill—terrifying, bro.jpg
"Of course. Just for fun, why would I be so serious?"
No problem. Hii Kōri shrugged, then turned to Karura—already seated at the desk. "Hey, Karura. Want to join?"
"No thanks, I'll stay here and study ninjutsu~ It's just warm-up anyway—Pakura-chan won't get hurt, right?"
With Hii Kōri's "reward" promised, Karura suddenly had motivation to continue studying.
She only wanted to write a paper. No other worldly desires.
"Hm, fine. We'll call you when heading back."
Raising an eyebrow, Hii Kōri dragged Pakura—protesting "Why assume I'm getting hurt?!"—out of the study room.
Good. Whatever the purpose, learning itself is wonderful.
Not everyone needs to immerse themselves in research like me. But if slight motivation can motivate others, why not?
"Yo, Hii, Pakura. Sparing again?"
Walking hand-in-hand with Pakura toward the third training ground, they encountered older students greeting them friendly.
Over two months, he and Pakura sparred daily at the training ground. Witnesses naturally remembered those sessions—comparing to their own level.
Moreover, anyone asking Hii Kōri taijutsu questions received answers. His reputation among students was quite good.
"Not really sparing—just warming up."
Hii Kōri responded with a lazy vibe. "Speaking of which, your arm's probably not healed? I wouldn't recommend strenuous exercise yet."
"Ahaha, gotta rehab a bit. Should be fine."
The guy with fluffy brown curls—even longer than Hii Kōri's, collecting half a jin of sand per outing—very unsuitable for desert life—and loud "ahaha" laugh, waved awkwardly.
His arm had been injured during recent practice. Karura used him as teaching aid for medical ninjutsu practice.
"I'd think throwing shuriken is more suitable for rehab than practicing hand seals. Throwing, you can stop if your arm feels off. Hand seals speed up—not so much."
Hii Kōri squinted, complained. The other responded with trademark "ahaha" laugh.
His name was Sakaki Tatsuma—two years ahead. From the patches on his clothes, Sakaki's finances were tight.
Probably couldn't afford unnecessary wear on shuriken in this inaccurate state. Consumables weren't exactly cheap.
"Practice shuriken throwing today then. What do you think, Pakura?"
Knowing she'd never refuse, Hii Kōri asked anyway. After her affirmative, he casually tossed Sakaki a pack of shuriken. "Since we met, wanna practice together?"
"Ahaha, don't mind if I do?"
Accepting the shuriken, Sakaki didn't decline. Though Appearing silly, from observation, he seemed quite shrewd.
Precisely why Hii Kōri extended this kindness. Being used required "utility value." Without strengths, people wouldn't even glance.
Not expecting this slight connection to amount to anything—but relationships weren't built little by little?
Just do it.
Thus thinking, Hii Kōri stood at the throwing range's edge.
Hands swept across his tool pouch—ten shuriken, each a third palm-sized, fanned between fingers. Wrist flick, they crossed ten meters, embedding in wooden posts with almost stacked thuds.
Confirming wrist condition with basic throwing, he began formal practice.
Curved throws, timing attacks, ricochet angle changes—various techniques are at your fingertips. Shuriken collisions and post-impacts stirred across the range.
...
The sun vanished below the horizon. Riding desert evening wind, Hii Kōri walked alongside Pakura and Karura on open roads.
He preferred sky-visible paths over enclosed tunnels. Weather permitting, he chose this route home.
Desert nights are almost always starry—dazzling, magnificent. Long accustomed to city lights—dulled skies, he couldn't grow used to this view no matter how many times seen.
Someone once said vast distances made one feel humble. But beneath this starry sky utterly unlike his familiar charts, Hii Kōri felt something else—a strong impulse.
A throbbing making him truly feel his life—that this incorrigible bastard truly existed here.
"So beautiful..."
"What's up?"
Hearing his sigh, Karura asked curiously.
"Just thinking—besides us, maybe life exists on other stars..."
"Ehh~ Kōri's talking nonsense again~"
"I'm serious. Don't you think, Pakura?" "I don't even know how to beat you—how would I know that?"
"..."
If gods truly existed, they were far too merciful to him.
Hii Kōri sincerely believed this.
***
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