The effortless ease of the Konoha Twelve stood out painfully in the exam hall, where murderous intent simmered beneath the surface. They were like a spring of clear water spilling into boiling oil, every movement brimming with a vitality utterly at odds with their surroundings.
Some laughed and joked; others whispered. Even their breathing carried the unrestrained exuberance of youth, a stark contrast to the taut nerves of the ninja from other villages. It would have been hard not to notice them.
Not far away.
A chill perpetually hung over Sunagakure's corner.
"..." Gaara remained as unapproachable as ever, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his arms folded. The dark green shading around his eyes made his gaze seem all the more indifferent.
His eyes swept idly over the crowd, as though he were looking at a swarm of ants that had nothing to do with him. The aura radiating from him was cold enough to freeze the air, making people instinctively give him a wide berth.
But only he knew that whenever his gaze passed over Konoha's noisy group, his pupils would contract for a fleeting instant. It was an emotion even he refused to acknowledge, mingled with a vague longing. Perhaps it was envy.
Unfortunately, no one dared look him in the eye.
The faint scent of blood clinging to him, and the lethal threat lurking beneath his calm, formed an invisible net that shut everyone out.
Naturally, no one noticed the fleeting trace of envy that had crossed the eyes of this boy shrouded in fear.
He envied how they could laugh without a care, shove one another over a joke, and stand beside each other as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He had none of that—or rather, he had once...
At