Hinata's progress

On the third day of school, Iruka took the whole class to the shaded half of the field for their Taijutsu lesson.

The April wind still carried a chill. Most of Konoha's cherry blossoms had fallen, leaving only damp patches of pink on the ground.

Kiyoshi stood at the back of the line, his mind still lingering on that little line of text from the night before.

The crow had moved its nest deeper into the clan grounds.

He couldn't figure it out, so he set it aside for now. One more thing on his mind didn't stop life from going on.

There was less than half a year left until that night.

He had something more important than the crow to deal with.

"Sparring today." Iruka patted the draw tube in his hand. "Draw lots for your partners. Step forward when your name is called. Everyone else, watch from the sidelines."

The tube rattled as he shook it. Nakajima jumped up to draw first and got Kiba Inuzuka. He slapped his thigh in delight. "I'm not losing to you this time!" Kiba snorted. When Kiyoshi's turn came, he drew a slip and looked at it: Hinata Hyuga.

He looked up and met Iruka's gaze.

Iruka said nothing, only tilted his head toward Hinata. Go on.

Kiyoshi lowered his eyes and looked at the slip again.

The crease was neat, as though it hadn't tumbled around in the tube very much.

He said nothing and walked onto the field.

Hinata was already standing opposite him, her Wrist Guard wrapped neatly, her hands held at her sides, her knuckles tense and white.

When she saw him approaching, she hastily lowered her head, gripping the edge of her Wrist Guard hard enough to wrinkle it.

"Um. P-please go easy on me." Her voice was very quiet. "I'll do my best."

"Okay." Kiyoshi raised a hand. "Come on."

Hinata activated her Byakugan, veins rising at her temples.

Kiyoshi opened with a slow punch to test her.

She didn't jerk out of the way. Keeping her shoulders level, she slid a fraction diagonally aside, reading the path of his punch perfectly.

That move wasn't part of their lessons.

The Byakugan was a pair of eyes, not a set of scales.

It could see how chakra flowed, not how much force the muscles exerted.

So if he was going to hold back today, he had to do it where she couldn't see.

Her first palm strike was textbook: straight, fast, and controlled.

Kiyoshi didn't dodge. He raised his forearm to meet it.

The edges of her palms landed twice in succession on the inside of his forearm. His chakra pathways faltered, and half his arm went numb for an instant.

He stayed in place an extra moment before retreating.

The numbness was stronger than he'd expected.

Someone on the sidelines made a surprised noise. Kiba leaned toward Nakajima's ear. "Bro Hao's going easy on her, right?" Nakajima said, "Can't tell. Bro Hao never shows anything on his face."

Hinata herself froze for a moment, her face flushing, then grew focused and followed with a second wave.

This time, she didn't come straight at him. She feinted at his elbow to force a block, while her real palm strike circled past the back of his hand and turned upward from below.

Kiyoshi went with the motion and countered, pushing toward the side of her shoulder with restrained force. She didn't block. A touch and a sweep with the back of her hand redirected his strength, and she was already closing in.

Kiyoshi dropped his shoulder and changed course, but he was still a fraction too slow.

Deflecting strength with softness had become second nature to her. She had long since stopped being satisfied with merely copying the rigid palm strikes demonstrated in class.

Another two strikes landed squarely on his forearm.

Only then did Kiyoshi realize the rhythm of the match had changed.

In the first half, he'd been leading her along. Now she was forcing him back.

Kiyoshi glanced down at his arm.

Those two hits weren't luck.

The feint had been a genuine feint, and the angle of the second palm strike had been calculated. That precision could only have come from countless repetitions.

He remembered that Wrist Guard.

He'd given it to her, the one with "the hope of the whole village" on it.

When he gave it to her, he'd said, "Once you can land a hit on someone, I'll spar with you."

Now she'd landed one.

For the third exchange, Kiyoshi decided not to hold back.

This was sparring. She wanted the real thing.

Whispers began on the sidelines.

Kiba muttered that Bro Hao was about to lose. Nakajima told him to shut up, his eyes never leaving the field.

When Hinata advanced again, Kiyoshi raised his hand to block her in earnest, a fraction faster this time.

Everyone thought this strike would be stopped.

Hinata didn't pull her palm back.

She took a tiny diagonal step, sending her palm along an unexpected route to cut in around the outside of his blocking arm.

Her Wrist Guard brushed against the lining of her sleeve as she struck. The fabric's edge was already worn and fraying. The sound was faint, but Kiyoshi heard it clearly.

Two palm strikes landed on his forearm.

Clean, crisp, without the slightest hesitation.

Numbness shot along his chakra pathways to the crook of his elbow, and his arm truly faltered for a moment.

This time, he hadn't let her.

The field fell silent for a beat.

Then cries of surprise erupted almost all at once.

Kiba's pair stopped first. Kiba turned around with his mouth hanging open.

Nakajima planted his wooden sword against the ground and, a beat late, shouted his approval.

Ino slapped the person beside her, pointing at the field, speechless.

Several sparring pairs stopped completely. Some gathered closer; others rose onto their toes.

"She hit him! Bro Hao got hit!" Nakajima shouted the loudest.

"When did the Hyuga Clan's young lady get this good?" someone murmured.

No one had an answer.

Iruka blew a short whistle from the sidelines. "Hyuga, three valid hits. You pass. Next pair."

That "next pair" came a little late. No one was listening.

Hinata stood frozen in place, still holding her striking pose. She looked at her own hands, then at Kiyoshi's forearm.

The veins subsided as she deactivated her Byakugan, and her face reddened all the way to her ears.

She jogged over in two quick steps, wringing her hands in front of her, and looked up.

"Kiyoshi, why are you so kind to me?"

Kiyoshi thought for a moment.

It wasn't a difficult question.

"You deserve it."

Hinata's eyes instantly reddened, unmistakably so. Her lips moved, but no words came out.

Kiyoshi took half a step back.

Did I say something wrong?

He turned the sentence over in his mind. Every word seemed right.

"Bro Hao's saying stuff like that again!" Nakajima was the first to burst out. "Bro Hao! Are you like this with everyone?"

"Bro Hao said that last time too!"

"To who last time? Who was it?"

The teasing swelled into a chorus.

Iruka stood at the edge of the field with his arms folded and rubbed his face. This time, he neither blew his whistle nor glared at anyone, making it clear he wasn't going to pursue it today.

Hinata lowered her head even further, her ears so red they looked ready to burn.

[Awkwardness value +20, current total: 500]

After school, Kiyoshi headed home alone.

The setting sun turned the river into an orange road. He walked along the embankment, slowing when he reached the bridge.

Someone stood on the riverbank.

Sasuke Uchiha was alone, holding a shuriken and throwing again and again at a wooden training post dozens of paces away.

Throw, walk over and pull it out, return, throw again.

He had no companion, no one to hand him another shuriken. The ground was littered with those that had hit and those that had missed, with more misses than hits.

Strips of cloth were wrapped around his fingertips.

Kiyoshi stood at the end of the bridge for a while.

Yesterday after school, this guy had walked away without looking back and wouldn't even accept a challenge.

Today, he was alone by the river, practicing until it was nearly dark.

The three-person team Kiyoshi had been keeping in mind still hadn't taken shape.

The trio hadn't even formed yet, and the prickly one was already pushing himself ahead.

Kiyoshi didn't approach or call out.

Some matches had to wait until the other side spoke first.

He filed the scene away just as it was, then turned toward home.

Behind him, the sound of shuriken sinking into wood drifted across the riverbank on the wind, over and over, never stopping.