Chương 51: Three-Star Fan

Dawn. A boy in a white short-sleeved shirt knelt on the inn's back veranda with his eyes closed, a weapons pouch and a black-sheathed katana resting at his side. Shin almost never wore white. Hana had packed it for him, and he'd had no choice but to put it on. He'd risen early. The courtyard was empty save for him — tidy flower beds lining the perimeter, a wide stretch of bare ground in the center, everything well maintained. A door slid open along the corridor.

Temari stepped out, nothing like the combat gear she'd worn yesterday. Loose casual clothes, hair hanging free instead of tied in four tails — she looked softer, almost different. She stretched, drew in a deep breath, and noticed the only other person on the veranda. A flicker of surprise crossed her face. She hadn't expected him to be up this early. She didn't dwell on it. A moment later she turned and went back inside. Time passed. When Shin finally opened his eyes, the courtyard was still empty.

He rose, drew the katana slowly from its sheath. The whisper of steel on lacquered wood sent something familiar surging through him — a sensation that lived in his hands, his shoulders, the balls of his feet. He walked to the center of the courtyard, both hands on the grip. The blade was too long for his body. Held upright, it reached past his chest. On a child this small, the proportions looked wrong. He stilled his breathing. Set his stance. Shifted his weight — and the blade moved with him. Shhhk.

A downward cut split the morning air, trailing cold light. Shin's entire body torqued into a lateral slash that swept the katana through empty space at waist height. His right arm rose behind him. A thrust. Then a diagonal cut — kesagiri — the blade carving an arc from shoulder to hip. Every motion was clean. Efficient. Fast. Basic forms, all of them, but each strike carried the weight of a thousand repetitions from a life he could no longer name.

The courtyard held nothing but the sound of a boy swinging a sword, each cut ringing sharp in the silence. A door slid open. Temari emerged again, back in yesterday's combat outfit, the iron fan strapped to her back. She paused at the sight of him. She'd been out once already, and that had been a while ago — and she had no idea how long before that he'd started. Her teammates and their jonin instructor hadn't appeared yet. Still asleep, probably.

Temari sat down on the wooden veranda floor and watched the boy who was younger than her but more diligent than anyone on her team. Her impression of him wasn't bad. The fish he'd given her last night was still in her room, though after a full night it had gone sluggish — wouldn't move unless you poked it. She wasn't sure why. The Land of Wind was mostly desert. Rivers were scarce, fish even scarcer. That was why the goldfish had caught her attention in the first place. As for Daimaru's attitude, she didn't care.

This boy who hadn't said a word to provoke anyone — they'd probably never cross paths again after this. Why force a confrontation? The sun climbed. Half its disc crested the rooftop, and light spilled into the courtyard. Temari unstrapped the fan and set it beside her. Somewhere she'd found a teacup, and she sat there sipping it, watching. Shin was still practicing. She'd only just graduated this year. Her team had left the village on a mission bound for the Land of Fire, but they'd been stopped at the border.

Her instructor had already sent word back to Suna and was coordinating with Fire Country officials. She didn't know the outcome. What came next was her jonin leader's call.

"Morning, Temari." The door beside her opened. Nora stepped out in full gear, spotted her sitting there, and gave a short nod.

"Morning." Nora came to stand beside her and saw Shin in the courtyard. His eyebrows rose.

"Isn't that the Leaf kid from yesterday?"

"Mm."

"I thought he said he's still got two or three years before graduating." Nora watched the blade work, thinking.

"A katana, huh... You don't see many of those even in Konoha." Every major village had its own style. In Suna, bladed weapons were rarer still.

"How does someone who hasn't even graduated end up in the Land of Rivers?" Nora asked.

"He's traveling with Leaf shinobi. Probably a jonin — the woman was wearing a flak jacket. There's a merchant caravan with them too." Temari recalled Tsume Inuzuka from the day before. The standard-issue flak jacket was chunin rank or above.

"So in Konoha, they take pre-graduates out for field experience..." Nora rubbed his chin.

"Strongest of the Five Great Nations for a reason, I guess." Temari's eye twitched.

"Suna isn't any weaker than Konoha."

"But look at this kid — his swordsmanship's actually pretty solid." Nora pointed toward Shin.

"Since when do you know anything about kendō?" Temari gave him a sideways look.

"I don't. I just think his swings look nice."

"..." …… They say lethal technique should never be flashy. But in Shin's previous life, the sword arts had flourished to a fever pitch — hundreds schools competing, each trying to outshine the next. Many dōjō had deliberately refined their forms to be visually striking, the better to draw attention in duels and exhibitions. Growing up in that era, Shin couldn't help but carry the influence. Daimaru pushed through his door with a yawn and a stretch.

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"Morning." He nodded to Temari and Nora.

"Morning. You were sleeping so hard I didn't want to wake you," Nora said with a grin. Temari didn't acknowledge him. She sat and drank her tea.

"What are you two staring at?" Daimaru followed their gaze and spotted Shin.

"Tch. What's so interesting about swinging a sword?"

"It's nice to watch," Temari said. Nora went very still. He coughed lightly, signaling that he knew nothing and had no opinions.

"Nice to watch? So what?" Daimaru scoffed.

"What kind of shinobi still uses a sword? And a full-length katana at that — dead weight in a real fight. All flash, no substance."

"Looking good is enough." Temari turned to him, expression perfectly innocent.

"What else would you need?"

"..."

"..."

"He's good-looking too," she added after a moment's thought.

"Better-looking than you."

"..." She wasn't wrong. Daimaru's face fell squarely in the category of aggressively plain. Comparing him to Shin was an act of cruelty.

"You—!" Daimaru's teeth ground together. Temari's gaze slid toward him. That was all it took for his anger to deflate. He didn't dare push back against Temari. So he redirected everything at Shin.

"That little punk was so arrogant yesterday. I'm going to teach him a lesson." Daimaru's voice was low and bitter.

"Hey — don't start something, Daimaru." Nora cut in quickly. In his mind, Daimaru was already a shinobi while Shin hadn't even graduated. This was just bullying. And Shin was traveling with a Leaf jonin. Picking a fight could spiral into a diplomatic incident, and their own instructor would punish them for it." He was the arrogant one yesterday? Pretty sure that was you," Nora said flatly.

"Tch!" Daimaru spat and ignored him, stepping down from the veranda into the courtyard.

"Embarrassing," Temari muttered, brow furrowed. Shin felt the presence behind him before he turned. He stopped mid-swing, pivoted — and there was Daimaru, the Sand genin from the day before.

"Hey. Leaf kid." Daimaru jabbed a finger at him, chin raised. Shin's brow creased slightly. The hostility was obvious.

"A shinobi who uses a sword?" Daimaru sneered.

"You think waving that thing around actually does something? Want me to show you what a real ninja looks like?" He pulled a kunai from his pouch and spun it lazily around one finger. Shin's gaze darkened. He planted the katana point-down in the dirt.

"What — scared?" Daimaru taunted.

"Flashy garbage." Shin said nothing. He turned and walked to the opposite veranda.

"Hey! Running away? Coward!" Daimaru's voice climbed as Shin walked off. Shin reached the veranda. He picked up the scabbard, slid the katana home with a quiet click, and set it on the floorboards. Then he picked up his weapons pouch and strapped it to his thigh, unhurried. When he was done, he walked back to the courtyard and stopped a short distance from Daimaru.

"This kid..." Daimaru eyed the sequence of movements, muttering. Shin raised his right hand. Index and middle fingers pressed together, held before his chest. The three Sand shinobi stared.

"The seal of opposition?" Nora said, startled.

"You arrogant little—!" Daimaru's face flushed. He whipped his arm forward and the kunai shot toward Shin. Fast. But Shin tilted his head — barely — and the blade hissed past his ear. He lowered the seal.

"You're a genin?" Shin asked.

"What of it?!" Daimaru snapped. Shin reached into his pouch. When his hands emerged, four shuriken were fanned between the fingers of each hand — eight total. Daimaru's brow twitched. Something in his gut told him this was about to go badly.

"Then let me see what a genin can do." Eight shuriken left his hands at once, spinning at blinding speed, their trajectories weaving and crossing, converging on Daimaru's position from every angle. Daimaru's confidence cracked. This kind of shuriken control was beyond anything he could manage. He dropped his weight and threw himself backward. Thk-thk-thk-thk-thk-thk-thk-thk! Eight shuriken embedded in the ground in a perfectly straight line where Daimaru had been standing. Silence.

"Sorry about that," Shin said, smiling faintly.

"I practice against targets with Sasuke at the Academy a lot. Force of habit — they all landed in a row."

"..."

"..."

"Academy students in Konoha can do that?" Nora's face was a study in disbelief.

"Get lost! Don't push your luck!" Daimaru shouted, face red. He felt humiliated — utterly, completely humiliated. He snatched another kunai and hurled it at Shin, then charged in behind it. Shin flicked a shuriken from his hand. It intercepted the kunai midair, knocking it to the ground with a sharp clang. In the same breath, Daimaru closed the distance. Bam. Daimaru threw a heavy punch. Shin raised both arms and caught it on his guard, then broke away, stepping back fast.

Four more shuriken appeared between his fingers. Shk-shk-shk! The shuriken came in at impossible angles. Daimaru tried to press forward but the incoming steel forced him to dodge — clumsy, frantic, slapping a kunai up to deflect what he couldn't evade. This guy... Shin watched Daimaru flail and thought it quietly. He's kind of weak. Speed — lacking. Power — lacking. Unless this wasn't a taijutsu fighter, but— Shin steadied himself and produced eight more shuriken, four in each hand.

He threw them in a single sweeping motion. They became streaks of silver in the air, curving in wide arcs too fast to track, closing on Daimaru from every direction. Daimaru had barely recovered from the last volley. This wave hit from multiple angles simultaneously — he couldn't block them all. Shin's hands came up with three kunai, ready to throw — and then he saw the blood. A long cut across Daimaru's cheek, not deep, but bleeding freely. His clothes were slashed in half a dozen places. Shin lowered the kunai.

From start to finish, he'd thrown three volleys of shuriken. Maybe his shuriken were just too good? He knew he was well ahead of his classmates — but he hadn't expected a graduated genin to struggle this badly.

"You all right?" Shin asked, standing where he was. Daimaru stood bleeding, the long gash on his face still weeping red, his clothes tattered. He hadn't moved. The shock hadn't left his eyes.

"Are all genin like you?" Shin tilted his head, genuinely puzzled.

"..." The answer was disappointing. After seeing the endless variety of ninjutsu the shinobi world had to offer, Shin had assumed that even the lowest-ranked genin would be formidable. Sasuke, for instance — he was fairly sure Sasuke could beat this person too.

"Or is it just Sand genin who are like this?" Shin tried a different angle.

"What did you just say?! You piece of—!" Daimaru's fury reignited.

"You dare insult my village!"" Daimaru!" A voice cut through the courtyard. Shin looked toward its source. The Sand girl had risen to her feet, one hand resting on her iron fan.

"Get back here, you embarrassment," Temari ordered, glaring.

"..." Daimaru pressed his lips together, shot Shin a venomous look, but ultimately dropped his head and trudged back to Temari's side without a word.

"What's your name?" Temari turned her gaze to Shin.

"Shin Takami."

"Hm?" A cold smile spread across her face.

"You may be a kid, but I suppose you barely qualify as a shinobi. You're going to apologize for what you just said." Daimaru and Nora both fell in behind Temari, deferring to her without question. Shin understood he'd crossed a line. Asking him to apologize was fair — he had no issue with that. But if he apologized now, that would probably be the end of it... His eyes drifted to the iron fan propped against the ground beside her. He sized her up.

"Are you a genin too?" he asked. Temari's smile turned colder. She stepped down from the veranda and stopped a short distance away, squaring off.

"Bold, aren't you." She planted the fan on the ground. It struck with a dull, heavy thud.

"Using the sword?" She glanced at the black-sheathed katana resting on the opposite veranda. Shin shook his head and drew a kunai from his pouch. Temari hefted the fan before her, and they faced each other. Shin stilled his breathing. His weight dropped. Whoosh! His arm snapped forward. The kunai shot out trailing a faint scream of displaced air, straight at Temari. Shin moved with it, circling fast, looking for an opening. Temari didn't dodge.

She brought the fan up two-handed and caught the kunai with a sharp clang. The trajectory had been linear, and Shin didn't yet have the raw strength to make a single thrown kunai unblockable. One miss. Shin drew eight shuriken, fanned them between his fingers, and threw them the same way he had against Daimaru — arcing from every direction at once. At the same time, he gripped a kunai and charged. Eight shuriken converged on Temari from all sides. She didn't move.

The fan opened partway — a few ribs spreading to reveal one purple circle on the fan's face. She gripped the base with both hands and swung. Wind exploded outward. A vortex erupted from the fan and surged toward Shin, ripping every incoming shuriken from the air and scattering them across the ground like toys. The gale didn't stop. Shin slammed to a halt, crossed his arms in front of his face, and braced. The wind tore at him — his skin stung everywhere, as though invisible blades were dragging across it.

When the gust died, he lowered his arms. His hair had come loose, the tie blown away somewhere, black strands hanging wild over his shoulders. Temari stood exactly where she'd been, not a hair out of place. A faint, mocking curve played at her lips.

"My weapon is called the Three-Star Fan. What you just felt was only First Star. Had enough?"

"..."