Year-end assessment (I)

It was winter, at the end of Konoha's sixth year.

The sky was still dark, and the cold stiffened the very gaps between their bones.

The ground of the Elite Training Ground was frozen hard, crunching underfoot. White breath met the cold wind and vanished in an instant.

The middle of the grounds was packed with people-all one hundred "elite seeds," not one missing. Each was bundled up tight, their little faces red from the cold, their eyes holding a little nervousness and an excitement they could barely suppress. The first stage of the year-end assessment was a weighted run.

Tetsu Uchiha stood at the head of the group with a dark expression, a small mountain of sandbags piled at his feet, every one looking heavy. Holding a roster, he spoke in a voice as cold and hard as the weather. "First stage: physical fitness test. The rules are simple. Carry a sandbag and run thirty laps around the training ground. No using chakra to speed up. No tripping each other. If you can't hold out, put down your sandbag and get to the sidelines. That counts as forfeiting. The first thirty to finish advance to the next round. Now, come get your sandbags!"

The line began to move, the children stepping forward one by one. As soon as they took the sandbags, many pulled miserable faces. They were truly heavy-at least twenty jin. Once loaded onto their backs, their shoulders immediately sagged.

Yutian stepped forward silently, took a sandbag, and hefted it without a word before briskly swinging it onto his back. The hemp rope dug into his shoulders, and the solid weight briefly caught his breath. He walked near the starting line and loosened his limbs, his gaze unconsciously sweeping to the side.

Not far away, Kagami Uchiha had also shouldered his sandbag and stood straight, his face showing little expression. His head was slightly lowered as he adjusted the straps with unhurried movements. As usual, two or three people surrounded him, talking quietly. Kagami occasionally nodded, his gaze never once straying toward Yutian.

Yutian looked away and drew a deep breath of icy air that chilled his airways. He remembered Yinglang's final words in the pine grove a few days earlier: "Four days left." Over those four days, aside from completing his daily training, he had barely slept at night, practicing that feeling of "pushing" over a basin of water again and again until his fingers cramped and his head went numb. When no one was around, he could just barely manage seven or eight wobbly steps on water, but he was still far from "steady." This weighted run...

"On your marks-" Tetsu Uchiha drew out the words.

The grounds instantly fell silent, leaving only the wind and heavy breathing.

"Run!"

At the command, the crowd surged into motion.

For the first few dozen steps, everyone pushed hard, their footsteps a jumble as frozen dirt flew, all trying to secure a good position. Yutian did not squeeze toward the front. He steadied his breathing and kept fairly solid strides in the rear half of the pack. The sandbag pressed against his back, knocking against his spine with every step. He hardly felt it at first, but half a lap in, that heaviness began seeping through his padded clothes and into his bones.

Up ahead, some were already panting, their steps falling out of rhythm. A lap around the training ground was no short distance. Thirty laps, and this was only the beginning.

The first lap, the second...

Yutian adjusted his breathing, thinking of nothing, only counting his steps and feeling the jolt of the frozen ground beneath his feet and the increasingly distinct pressure on his back. The cold wind cut across his face like a dull knife, and the air entering his lungs tasted of ice shards.

By the fifth lap, the line had stretched out completely. The few at the front, quick on their feet and with strong family foundations, had already pulled a little ahead of the rest. Kagami was among that leading group. He was not running fast, but his steps were steady, his rhythm entirely unbroken, as though the sandbag on his back did not exist. Most of the children in the middle gritted their teeth and kept up, their faces flushed red. A few at the very back had already begun falling behind, stumbling and wheezing like broken bellows.

Yutian was still toward the back of the middle group. His breathing was growing rapid, his throat dry, and every breath carried the taste of rust. His legs felt filled with lead, growing heavier and heavier. Only now did those twenty jin on his back reveal their true weight. It was no longer a sandbag, but a stone constantly dragging downward, pulling at his shoulders, trying to press him into the mud.

I can't stop. If I stop, I'll lose the breath keeping me going.

He remembered Yinglang saying, "Your chakra is your own. When you hurt, it perks up too," then remembered the tears brought on by the chili and the clear sense of control afterward. He tried not to fight the weight on his back, instead awkwardly trying to "feel" it, treating it as an extension of his body. Heavy though it was... it was "his."

It seems... a little easier? Perhaps it was psychological, but his steps did steady a little.

The tenth lap.

Children who had forfeited began appearing at the sidelines. One small, thin child lay collapsed on the ground, his sandbag tossed aside, crying into his hands. Tetsu Uchiha stood beside him, expressionless, and merely made a mark on the roster.

Yutian passed him without so much as a sideways glance. All he could see was the blurry, swaying back ahead of him, belonging to someone he could not identify. All he could hear was his own increasingly loud heartbeat and harsh breathing. His lungs wheezed like broken bellows, every expansion bringing a stabbing pain. Sweat seeped from his hairline and ran into his eyes, stinging fiercely, but he could not spare the effort to wipe it away.

Fifteen laps.

The line had thinned further. The leaders had already lapped those at the rear. Yutian did not know his position, nor did he have the strength to count. His head buzzed, with only one thought repeating mechanically: Lift a leg, set it down, lift it again.

Kagami caught up from behind, his strides still steady, his breathing even lighter than that of some children who had only run ten laps. He passed Yutian, stirring a gust of cold air. At their closest, Yutian could even make out the calm contours of his profile and the fine layer of sweat at his temple, glinting faintly in the morning light.

No eye contact, no expression, as though he were passing a stone by the roadside.

Yutian clenched his back teeth. A surge of defiance and fierce determination rose within him, actually forcing him to quicken his pace a fraction. He clung stubbornly to a distance of seven or eight steps behind Kagami, refusing to be immediately left behind.

Twenty laps.

He had reached his limit.

Every breath felt like a knife scraping from his throat to the bottom of his lungs. His legs no longer felt like his own, swinging back and forth mechanically. His knees weakened, nearly sending him to the ground several times. The sandbag now weighed like a mountain, pressing his spine until it creaked. Unable to straighten his back, he could only hunch over and inch forward.

His vision began to darken, and the buzzing in his ears drowned out the wind and footsteps. The taut string in his mind had reached its thinnest, tightest point and could snap at any moment.

Give up, a voice said in his head. Put it down, and it'll be easy. Look, two more have collapsed over there.

Another voice, weaker but more stubborn, held it down. I can't let go. If I do, it's back to the stable. If I do, it proves they were right. If I do, I'll be letting down those four nights of freezing water, that pain in the pine grove that burned straight through my skull, and... those words, "You're my student."

Yinglang's calm eyes, which sometimes seemed bottomless to him, flashed before his eyes.

His lungs were about to burst, his legs about to break, his back about to snap.

Lift a leg. Set it down.

Lift it again.

Almost unconsciously, he began using that clumsy method of "pushing"-not pushing chakra, but "pushing" this body of his that was nearly falling apart. He imagined a force squeezed out from his belly, bracing his legs, his feet, his heavy torso, moving forward inch by inch.

Twenty-five laps.

Few people at the sidelines could still stand. Arms folded, Tetsu Uchiha swept a sharp gaze over the dozens of figures still persisting on the grounds. Yutian looked a wreck. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, his face was frighteningly pale, and he had bitten bloody marks into his lips. His running form had completely fallen apart; he was almost dragging his feet along the ground. But he had not stopped, and the sandbag was still on his back.

Kagami was nearly half a lap ahead of him now, his figure still steady.

Twenty-eight laps.

Yutian could no longer feel the cold or the exhaustion. He felt as though he were floating in the clouds, with only his bellows-like breathing and the sound of his heart pounding against his ribs remaining real. His vision blurred, and he could only follow the indistinct footprints ahead by instinct.

Twenty-nine laps... the final lap.

The children at the sidelines who had not forfeited, whether they had finished or not, held their breath as they watched this final stretch. Several children struggling ahead of and behind Yutian, likewise close to their limits, began sprinting desperately, strange rasping sounds rising from their throats.

Yutian wanted to sprint too, but he simply could not lift his legs. He watched two people stagger past him.

The finish line was right ahead, with Tetsu Uchiha standing there.

Thirtieth... no, thirty-first? Or thirty-second?

His mind was a muddle, and the numbers would not line up. Forget it.

He used the last of his strength, not to "run," but to "lunge" heavily toward that blurry line.

The instant his foot crossed the line, his back suddenly felt lighter-not because the sandbag had fallen, but because the breath sustaining him had finally given out. He pitched forward, his knees buckling, about to slam face-first into the frozen ground.

A hand reached out from the side, seized his arm, and forcibly held him up.

Yutian barely steadied himself. His vision blacked out several times before slowly clearing. The one holding him was an unfamiliar child his own age who had also just reached the finish. Too breathless to speak, the child merely grinned at him and gave him a thumbs-up before crouching to one side to vomit.

Momentum carried Yutian stumbling a few more steps before he finally stopped. He bent over with his hands braced on his knees, mouth open, gulping air like a fish out of water and coughing his lungs out. Sweat, snot, and tears smeared his face. He looked utterly wretched.

Only after a long while did the dreadful dizziness and nausea ease a little. He straightened, wiped his face, and looked back.

At the finish line, Kagami Uchiha was undoing his sandbag, his movements still composed. Aside from slightly quickened breathing, his face did not even show much of a flush. He accepted a waterskin from a follower beside him and slowly took a sip. His gaze swept indifferently over the people sprawled every which way on the ground or panting as miserably as Yutian. With little expression, he turned and walked toward the rest area prepared at the sidelines.

Tetsu Uchiha's cold voice rang out as he began announcing the names of those who had passed the first stage.

"...Kagami Uchiha, first. Uchiha Honoikazuchi, third... Uchiha Yinglang, thirteenth... Uchiha Yutian, twenty-ninth."

Twenty-ninth.

As Yutian listened, the stone that had weighed on his heart for who knew how long dropped with a thud. He slowly returned to the sidelines and found his waterskin. His hands shook so badly that he almost dropped it. The icy water made him shudder as he gulped it down, but his mind cleared a little.

He lifted his head and looked toward the far end of the training ground. It was fully light now. Pale winter sunlight shone on the muddy track, on the figures still struggling to finish, and on his own mud-spattered shoes.

He had passed the first stage.

He tightened the cap of his waterskin, sat down against an icy wooden post, and closed his eyes. Every part of him hurt and ached, but the faint little flame in his heart seemed to have been fanned a little brighter by that desperate, wretched run.

There's still a long road ahead, he told himself once his breathing had steadied. What's the next stage?