Che had thought that after the second bell, Takuya would have them continue practicing cooling down.
Instead, the copper trays were removed the next day.
A row of thin paper strips had replaced them on the table, each held by a slender bamboo clip and standing upright on a wooden rack. The paper was ordinary, its edges slightly rough, as if torn from the back of a workbook. Kiyo stared at it for a long while, then asked softly, "Are we practicing writing today?"
Yamashiro Takuma pushed the rack forward. "You need practice writing too."
Kiyo immediately hid his hands behind his back. "Then I'd rather practice fire."
Takuya did not have them ignite the paper. Instead, he set the strips far away—far enough that the little warmth in their palms could not reach them. He said they would do only one thing today: bring fire-nature chakra close without touching the paper. The paper could not scorch, its edges could not curl, and the bamboo clips could not heat up. Anyone who made the paper react would start the cooling exercise over from the beginning.
Disappointment nearly showed on Kiyo's face. "So we're still not allowed to burn anything."
"You really want to burn something?" Takuya asked.
"Not really." Kiyo's gaze drifted aside. "It's just that the paper's all standing there. Feels like I'm letting it down."
Morita Yu said, "The paper didn't ask you to."
Che listened to their bickering, but he could not relax with them. Yesterday's thin spiral mark in the sand was still lodged in his mind. Paper was even more straightforward than sand. Once the heat crossed the line, the edges would yellow immediately. There was nothing to hide, and nothing that could be explained away as "the wind did it."
The first round began