The commotion after the promotion ceremony subsided, like dust swept away by the wind, slowly settling down. The slanting sunlight cast long shadows on the Kazekage Building.
Shira did not immediately attend the celebrations, whether sincere or perfunctory. Instead, he took off his brand-new, still slightly Jonin Forehead Protector, rubbed it in his hands for a while, and carefully put it into his pocket.
Then, he walked towards the familiar, shady sandy area on the outskirts of the training field, where few people went.
Yashamaru was already waiting there, a gentle smile on his face. Upon seeing him, he bowed slightly and said, "Congratulations, Jonin Shira."
"Ah, Mr. Yashamaru, please don't call me that, just call me Shira." Shira quickly waved her hand, a little unaccustomed to the new title. "Does Gaara have time?"
" Lord Gaara is at his usual spot in the back." Yashamaru's smile deepened as he pointed to a secluded corner further into the training ground, partially encircled by wind-eroded rocks. "He knows you might come today. Go ahead."
Shira nodded, thanked her, and walked in that direction. The sand under her feet was soft, making almost no sound as she stepped on it.
He circled around several huge rocks, sculpted into bizarre shapes by the wind, and saw the red-haired figure sitting in the shadows.
Gaara, just like in the original story, was carrying the large gourd he never parted with. He sat quietly on a slightly flat rock, head down, looking at his outstretched palms.
Above the palm, a wisp of golden sand, like a living stream, flows slowly, swirls, and transforms into simple geometric shapes.
Hearing footsteps, he slightly clenched his fingers, and the sand flowed silently back to the sand at his feet, merging into one.
He raised his head, his deep green eyes looking at Shira.
"Congratulations, Shira," Gaara said, his voice low and flat, but his eyes clearly reflected sincerity.
"Haha, thanks." Shira walked over and, without being polite, sat down on another rock next to him, brushing the sand off her clothes.
The two were a short distance apart, not too far, not too close, just the right comfortable position for friends. The wind whistled softly through the cracks in the rocks, and otherwise, all was quiet.
After a while, Gaara spoke again, his voice a little softer than before. "The speech, I heard it."
"Ah, that," Shira scratched her hair, her face a little hot. She hadn't felt it when she was shouting on stage, but now that her friend had brought it up in front of her, she felt a little embarrassed. "Was it a bit too noisy? My ears are ringing even after I said it."
Gaara looked at him, the corners of his mouth curving upwards almost imperceptibly, so subtle it was barely noticeable. "No noise. Good."
He paused, then added, "Many people listened."
"I hope so." Shira sighed, leaning back against the cold rock.
He turned his head and looked at Gaara's profile, which was clearly defined but no longer tense, and at the tranquility in his eyes that he hadn't seen in a long time, the tranquility that came from peaceful sleep. Something in his heart suddenly softened and he felt at ease.
He recalled that when he first came into this world, he was confused and bewildered, filled with anxiety about the unfamiliar environment and the cruel future, as well as the pressure to survive.
The first friend I made after I came into this world was Gaara.
At that time, I was still very weak, and Gaara by chance. In the days that followed, the two of us trained together.
That was probably the simplest and earliest interaction between him and Gaara. Later, as they sat together more often, they didn't talk much. Sometimes they would just space out, or one would silently practice his punches while the other quietly controlled the sand.
But that silence didn't make people uncomfortable; instead, it gave them a strange sense of peace.
Shira knew that Gaara was carrying something very heavy and terrifying, and that the villagers were afraid of him and avoided him.
But doesn't Shira herself also carry memories of another world and secrets she can't tell anyone? Thinking about it this way, she feels a bit of a sympathy for Violet.
"Actually, I owe my success today to you," Shira said, gazing at the sand dunes bathed in the golden-red light of the setting sun. Her voice softened unconsciously, as if she were speaking to Gaara, but also to herself, " Gaara."
Gaara turned his head, a hint of confusion in his eyes.
"It's not about thanking you for helping me with anything," Shira smiled. "It's about thanking you for making me feel that I'm not completely alone in this place. At first, I was scared and uncertain. I felt that life would be too difficult, and I didn't know if I could survive, or what kind of life I would have."
"But after seeing you... I thought, this guy has it even worse than me, but he's still doing fine, isn't he?"
Shira's words were a bit incoherent; it was unclear whether Gaara could understand them.
What he really wanted to say was that in those initial days of hardship and struggle, when he was almost crushed by the heavy reality and loneliness, it was Gaara, who was equally lonely and even rejected by the whole world, who, in such a strange way, became his spiritual "anchor".
It made him feel that he wasn't the only one struggling in hardship, giving his indomitable spirit a vague motivation to prove and protect it.
More importantly, after he gained the ability, his intentional or unintentional actions, his clumsy advice to Rasa that "weapons need to be stable to last longer," and the "Black Storm" incident that suddenly attacked Sunagakure several years ago, which covered the sky and blocked out the sun.
My memory is a bit hazy, but I remember the wind howling like ghosts, the sand hitting my body like knives, and many areas on the outskirts of the village suffering from the disaster.
I had just finished training when I saw a house collapse in the distance. Without thinking, I rushed over to help dig people out.
Then, amidst the chaos and cries, he saw another figure— Gaara. He wasn't standing in a safe place, nor was he using sand to protect himself. Instead, silently and somewhat clumsily, he used his ability to manipulate sand to carefully move away the heavy beams and stones that were pressing down on people, creating a small, relatively safe space for the injured in the raging wind.
Shira was stunned for a moment, then without saying anything, she went over and worked with him.
Two people, one using brute force and skill, the other using precise sand control, managed to snatch more than a dozen lives from the jaws of death during that natural disaster.
Subsequently, Shira broke through the Second Activation of the Seven Heavens Breathing Method in a desperate situation, saving several wounded soldiers.
The villagers of Sunagakure are resilient, but also pragmatic. Their fear stems from the unknown and the potential for harm.
When they witnessed firsthand how Gaara, that "monster" child, instead of bringing destruction during the disaster, extended a helping hand and did good with his terrifying power, something deeply ingrained began to falter.
Since then, Shira could sense that the villagers' gazes towards Gaara, while still cautious and distant, had lessened considerably, as if they were seeing a plague god.
They would make way for Gaara when he walked by, but no longer screamed and ran away as if avoiding a snake. Occasionally, a bolder child would secretly peek at Gaara when Yashamaru or Shira were around, their eyes filled with more curiosity than fear.
The biggest change, however, was in Gaara himself. After Uzumaki Kei arrived, the sleep problem that had plagued him for years and driven him almost insane was finally relieved.
People who can sleep have different eyes. As Shira watched the perpetually mad bloodshot and empty look in Gaara's eyes gradually fade and become calm, the feeling in Shira's heart that "perhaps my arrival really did change something" grew stronger and stronger.
"Things are good now," Shira said softly, as if summarizing or sighing. "You can sleep well now. People aren't as afraid of you anymore. Everything seems to be moving in a positive direction."
Gaara listened, his gaze returning to his palm. He didn't speak, but his fingers twitched slightly, and a small clump of sand rose from the ground, slowly gathering above his palm. This time, it didn't change shape, but simply formed a solid, small clump of sand, very firm.
After a long while, he gave a very soft "hmm".
Then, as if remembering something, he raised his hand, reached into his pocket, took out something, and handed it to Shira.
It's another small object made of sand. This time it's not a dumbbell; it looks a bit like a small, squatting animal with a round body and two little ears. Although the details are rough, you can tell that it was made with care.
" Shira, this is a gift for you," Gaara said, his voice still calm, but his gesture of handing over the gift was sincere.
Shira accepted the heavy, cool sand sculpture imbued with Gaara's Chakra, feeling a warmth in her heart and a slight urge to smile.
Haro Aiwoji friend, you have quite the unique way of congratulating me...
"Thanks." Shira held it carefully in her hand, feeling its weight, and smiled. "I'll keep it safe. I'll put it with the dumbbells you gave me before."
The last rays of the setting sun passed over the top of the wind-eroded rock and landed precisely on the sand between the two, drawing a line of light and shadow.
Shira sat in the light and shadow, Gaara sat in the shadow. The wind was still blowing, and in the distance, one could faintly hear the laughter of children returning home from work in the village, and the long, drawn-out melody of their mothers calling them to dinner.
At this moment, on this familiar sandy ground, two once lonely boys are able to sit quietly together, sharing a friendship that needs no words.
"That's enough," Shira murmured.