The morning sun still beat down on the training ground as two figures met behind the rocks on time.
A year had left its mark on Gaara as well. He had grown a little taller, but the gloom on his face and the weight he carried beyond his years seemed no lighter.
Only when he saw Shira did the ice in those green eyes thaw a little, revealing the faintest glimmer of childish brightness.
Their training remained simple and monotonous, focusing mainly on physical conditioning and fighting stances Shira had adapted using knowledge from his previous life.
Gaara learned diligently. To him, this was not just a way to grow stronger, but also a rare chance for normal interaction.
During a break, the two sat side by side in the shadow of the rocks, resting and drinking water in silence.
Shira looked at Gaara's slightly pale profile and the dark circles that never went away, and something stirred in his heart.
He remembered the new fillings being tested in his family's kitchen, and the steaming aroma of spices and minced meat mingling together.
A thought came naturally to him: I could bring Gaara some to try next time. The food at his home must...
But the moment the thought arose, it was extinguished, as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head.
Shira's back instinctively straightened a little, and his gaze swept seemingly casually over the empty sand and towering rock walls around them.
The Anbu must be watching all the time, he thought with a shudder.
Fourth Kazekage Rasa, the man who saw his son as a weapon, would never loosen his surveillance of Gaara.
Anything sent to Gaara to eat would inevitably undergo the strictest inspection, or might never even reach him.
And any attempt by Shira, an "unstable factor," to do anything involving "food" would be tantamount to courting death. It would immediately be interpreted as the most malicious of plots.
He couldn't take that risk. For his own sake and his family's, and also to avoid causing Gaara any extra trouble.
He silently tightened his grip on his water bottle and forcibly swallowed the words, "I'll bring you something tasty next time."
Gaara seemed to notice his sudden tension and silence. He turned to him in mild puzzlement and asked quietly, "Shira, what's wrong?"
Shira quickly gathered himself, shook his head, and forced a carefree smile. "Nothing. I was just thinking about the next training move. Have you rested enough? Shall we continue?"
Gaara looked at him and nodded silently, without asking more. He was long accustomed to not probing too deeply, and he was already satisfied to have this brief time to train.
However, with his keen senses, Gaara seemed to faintly perceive that Shira's moment of silence and change of subject just now were not out of ill will, but more like a silent concern.
After training, at the intersection where they parted ways.
Shira watched Gaara walk alone toward that lonely area, then suddenly called out to stop him. "Gaara."
Gaara stopped and turned around.
Shira stepped forward without a word and reached out, not to hand him anything, but to pat him firmly and earnestly on the shoulder. The gesture was brisk, carrying the pure encouragement and affirmation shared between companions.
"See you tomorrow." Shira looked at him, his eyes clear and determined. "Keep this up, and we'll get stronger."
There was no food, no gift, only the simplest words and a gesture of acknowledgment.
Gaara froze for a moment. He could clearly feel the pressure and warmth on his shoulder through his thin clothing. He looked into Shira's unclouded eyes, seeming to understand something, yet also seeming to understand nothing at all.
But the tiny glimmer in his green eyes seemed a little brighter.
He nodded gently and replied in a low voice, "Yeah. See you tomorrow."
This time, as he turned and walked away, his back seemed a little straighter.
Shira stood where he was, watching him go until the small red figure vanished into the windblown sand.
He knew the eyes in the shadows must have recorded that brief moment too. A pat on the shoulder and a few words of encouragement were, in anyone's eyes, the most ordinary interaction between companions, and might even help stabilize the "weapon's" emotions.
This was the only care he could safely offer under the present circumstances.
Heavy, invisible shackles still bound Gaara's neck and hung over Shira as well.
But beneath those shackles, a silent understanding was quietly taking shape between the two boys.
They could not share food or speak freely, but they could share sweat, the resolve to grow stronger, and a simple gesture of "acknowledgment."
This bond, struggling to grow under close surveillance, was like thorny grass fighting to survive in a crack between desert rocks: fragile, yet possessed of a moving tenacity.
Shira looked away and turned toward the school. His gaze grew deeper.
Rasa's people were watching and evaluating. So he would continue to demonstrate his "value"-the value of a harmless and useful "tool" that could stabilize the "weapon's" emotions and guide his development in the "right" direction.