8: The Showdown

“Go get him, Shino,” Shin said quietly.

Shino gave a small nod and stepped forward. Kiba hollered something encouraging from behind them.

On the other side of the line, a kid with a pineapple-shaped topknot—Shikamaru Nara—dragged himself out of the group with all the enthusiasm of someone heading to a dentist. Shin didn’t know much about him. Slept through half of class. Said in his introduction that his hobby was sleeping, and he’d managed to make it sound like a genuine life philosophy. He also had a round-faced kid named Choji Akimichi trailing him everywhere.

Nara. Some kind of secret-arts clan, I think. Shin filed it away without much urgency.

“Form the seal of opposition,” Iruka called once both of them had taken their positions.

Shino and Shikamaru faced each other, hands forming the seal.

“Let’s have a good match.”

Shino moved first—a sharp, direct charge.

“What a pain,” Shikamaru muttered, dropping into a defensive stance with the look of someone who’d rather be napping under a cloud. “Can’t lose though. Getting held after school on a weekend would be way more of a pain.”

He stopped Shino’s straight punch with both forearms, knee rising to block the low kick. Clean.

They separated, each hopping back to reset the distance.

Hard to read his level. Shino kept his eyes on Shikamaru. Try again.

Average strength, Shikamaru had already concluded. Speed and technique, that’s what he’s working with.

Shino came in again—both fists raised, a straight line drive.

Their figures crossed. Fists and feet collided. Shikamaru planted himself and absorbed every hit, not giving an inch.

Thud.

Another right hand blocked. Shino’s patience slipped—he pulled back fast, shifted his weight left, turned, and swept a roundhouse at Shikamaru’s midsection.

Shikamaru caught it with his forearm and brought a knee up to meet it.

A dull crack. Shino’s shin screamed at him. Before he could react, Shikamaru’s hands closed around his raised leg, shoved upward—and Shino’s center of gravity ceased to exist.

He hit the ground hard.

He rolled backward immediately, ignoring the pain, but his right leg wasn’t cooperating. He couldn’t find his balance. His whole body was listing left.

“Shino’s going to lose,” Shin said, watching Shino struggle to stand.

“What do we do?” Kiba was already anxious for his friend.

Shin had already worked it out. The taijutsu gap wasn’t huge, but it was real. The fight wouldn’t last much longer.

Shikamaru saw the opening and moved—his first offensive push of the whole fight. Shino brought his guard up fast.

Shikamaru closed in, cocked his right arm in a wide arc, and drove a straight punch toward Shino’s face.

Shino didn’t try to block it. He leaned back—head tilting away—felt the fist slash past his chin, close enough to feel the displaced air.

Bad.

He already knew. Off-balance, leaning away—one touch and he’d go down.

He was right.

Shikamaru’s right retracted and his left hand tapped Shino’s chest—light, almost polite. His left foot swept Shino’s rear ankle at the same time.

Shino went airborne backward. Shikamaru’s left hand was already at his throat, slamming him into the ground.

Shino hit the dirt. His vision sparked white. He stared up at Shikamaru’s open palm hovering a centimeter from his face—slowly, almost lazily, being withdrawn.

“Winner: Shikamaru Nara.”

Shino lay there, looking at nothing.

It wasn’t until Shikamaru formed the seal of reconciliation and reached down that Shino came back to himself.

“You okay?” Shikamaru asked, actually sounding like he meant it.

“I’m fine.” Shino returned the seal and let Shikamaru pull him up.

He found his footing slowly. Brushed the dust from his clothes.

“Thank you for the match.” They bowed to each other.

Iruka flipped through his clipboard. “Shino—your taijutsu is passing, barely. You’ll need to keep putting in work on your own time.”

“Yes, sir.”

“As for you, Shikamaru.” Iruka’s voice sharpened. “You’re decent enough out there. But keep coasting like this and Shino will be passing you before the year’s out.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shikamaru said, the words coming out in one long yawn.

“I need you to actually hear me when I talk to you.”

Shikamaru snapped upright and bowed sharply. “Yes, sir! Thank you for your guidance!”

Iruka pressed a hand to his forehead. “…This kid.”

……

They wandered back into the group.

“You alright, Shino?” Shin asked.

“I’m fine.” Shino shook his head once. “He was just better than me.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Kiba clapped a hand on Shino’s shoulder. “Next taijutsu class, I’ll settle the score for you.”

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“You think you can beat him?” Shin asked.

“Hey! Are you seriously doubting me right now?!” Kiba bared his teeth.

Shin glanced at him. Said nothing. The message was clear.

That sent Kiba to the edge of a breakdown.

“…Actually,” Shino said, “Kiba would probably have the edge in a straight sparring match.”

“See?! Shino gets it.” Kiba’s mood flipped instantly, full grin.

“You probably still wouldn’t come out ahead, though,” Shino added.

“Che. I won’t know until I try.” Kiba crossed his arms, unbothered, eyes on the sky.

Shino gave a small shake of his head and let it go.

Out in the ring, two background faces were going at it. Average form, nothing fancy—but it had energy, back and forth, trading hits. One of them eventually pulled ahead.

……

“Next group—” Iruka looked down at his roster once they’d cleared out.

“Shin Takami.”

Hm? That’s me already.

“Sasuke Uchiha.”

A small silence settled over the class.

Shin looked toward Sasuke. Their eyes met—Sasuke had already been looking.

“You’re fighting him?” Kiba perked up immediately, something lit behind his eyes. “That smug bastard?”

“You have to win, Shin.”

“These two are probably the top of the class right now,” Shino said.

“What’s that supposed to mean about me?” Kiba muttered.

“Shuriken—is Kiba better than Sasuke?”

Kiba: “…”

“Theory—is Kiba better than Shin?”

Kiba: “…”

“Those are the only two graded subjects so far.”

Kiba: “Hmph.” He looked away.

Shin glanced between them, the corner of his mouth pulling up slightly. Then he walked out.

Sasuke took his position a short distance away. Shin could see it in his eyes—anticipation, barely contained.

He’s been ahead of me in shuriken every time. Taijutsu though—he won’t touch me.

Shin’s body was not six years old in any meaningful sense. The muscle memory, the instincts, the angles—all of it was from another life. His physical conditioning was a child’s. Everything else was not.

Though I’m still fighting a bunch of kids, so.

He considered Iruka. The man was a chunin—but Shin had never seen him actually fight. Hard to gauge. He set it aside.

He wasn’t a pure hand-to-hand fighter in his past life anyway.

“Form the seal of opposition.”

“Let’s have a good match.”

They bowed.

“Sasuke-kun, go!”

“Shin, beat him!”

“Come on, Sasuke.”

“Shin-kun, you’re so cool.”

The support came from all sides—girls mostly, but a fair number of boys cheering for Shin too.

Sasuke had settled into a ready stance, his handsome face drawn tight and serious, a flicker of excitement underneath.