She slept... well, how should I put it? Deep, but not quite restful. The bed beneath her was almost too soft; Shira felt as if she were sinking into a warm ball of sand, unable to muster any strength in her hands or feet.
In the next room, Asuka was probably exhausted; his snoring was deafening, sounding like thunder even through the wall, rising and falling in waves, interspersed with a few incoherent mumbled words in his sleep, something like "My Shuriken..." and "Run faster..."
Shira was woken up several times in the middle of the night, each time rolling her eyes inwardly: This guy is more troublesome when he's asleep than when he's awake.
The last time she was woken up, it was still dark outside, and the room was a hazy blue. Shira stared at the ceiling for a while, listening to the sounds of Konoha's morning gradually rising outside—the crowing of roosters near and far, the faint rustling of brooms across the stone pavement, and the slight noises of breakfast being prepared from some unknown shop.
He tried to close his eyes and sleep a little longer, but the tension in his body seemed to be taut on its own, and he couldn't let go no matter what he did.
"Well, I can't sleep..." Shira sighed and simply sat up.
I rubbed my eyes and, using the increasingly bright daylight outside the window, glanced at the simple wooden clock in the room. The hands were pointing exactly to 5:40.
"... Really good." Shira muttered to the air, it was unclear whether she was referring to the obstinately diligent biological clock or to herself.
Before transmigrating, he would always wake up at this time to make it to morning training. Unexpectedly, after changing worlds and bodies, this problem remained unchanged.
Is this perseverance, or some kind of ingrained, soul-deeply ingrained fate of toil?
He couldn't stay lying down any longer. He quietly got up and quickly put on his clean training clothes—he had taken a shower yesterday, which had finally removed most of the blood and dust from his body.
He picked up the sword from the bedside table, his fingers brushing against the cool hilt. He paused, then put it back. Hmm, carrying a sword while jogging in Konoha seems a bit too conspicuous.
He gently pushed open the door. The corridor was quiet, except for the persistent snores of Asuka coming from the crack in the door next door. The doors of Captain Reppu and the Sada Sasori brothers were both tightly closed.
Shira tiptoed through the unusually quiet reception lobby. The Konoha Chunin night duty was dozing behind the counter. Shira wrote down her departure time on the counter and then quietly slipped out through the side door.
The Konoha was refreshing, moist, and carried the rich scent of awakening grass and earth, along with the faint aroma of cooking smoke from countless homes during breakfast.
The sky was a clean, pale blue, with golden edges peeking through the clouds in the east. The streets were almost deserted, save for a few early-rising villagers who cast curious glances at his unfamiliar face before continuing their work.
Shira took a few deep breaths and stretched her wrists and ankles. She was still physically tired, especially the deep soreness from overuse deep within her muscles, but her spirits were much better thanks to the good sleep and the fresh air.
He checked his bearings and decided to run around the village first, both to familiarize himself with the surroundings and, besides, maybe he'd bump into that figure?
He began to jog. His feet trod on the smooth flagstone path and the compacted dirt road, alternating between them. He ran through a quiet residential area, where warm lights began to illuminate the windows.
Running past the breakfast stalls where wisps of smoke were already rising, the sizzling sound of frying food and the sweet aroma of fermenting dough made my stomach rumble;
I ran across a small pond, where a light mist floated on the surface, and early-rising ducks were paddling.
It was completely different from the Sunagakure he was used to. The mornings in the Sunagakure were either deathly cold and still, or the prelude to the wind whipping up sand and starting to rage.
Here, everything slowly awakens in the soft light, filled with a sense of calm and orderly vitality.
" Rock Lee... by now, he must already be practicing self-discipline, right?"
As Shira adjusted her breathing and pace, she couldn't help but think. According to her memory, that inspirational boy with thick eyebrows was practically the embodiment of "hard work." Walking upside down around the village hundreds of times before dawn was just a basic routine for him.
Where will he train? In the mountains behind the village? At a dedicated training ground? Or will he just run around the village like I am now?
The thought made his heart flutter, and he quickened his pace unconsciously. Shira ran through a market street where merchants were beginning to unload their goods, and along the increasingly wide road, she headed towards the village's training area.
Shira's eyes involuntarily searched for any boy wearing training clothes, and her ears perked up, catching any shouts or striking sounds that might be from high-intensity Taijutsu training.
He was a mix of anticipation and inexplicable nervousness. What should he say when he met him? Should he say, "I'm also a bottom-tier Taijutsu, and I really admire you"? Would that be too silly? Would Rock Lee think he was being ridiculous? But knowing Rock Lee's personality, he'd probably immediately get all fired up and demand a sparring match, right?
Thinking of this, Shira couldn't help but smile. A sparring match... He really wanted to try it out and see what the difference was between Konoha's Strong Fist Style Taijutsu and the one he had learned through trial and error in the Sunagakure Village.
As they ran, they came to a forest and an open meadow ahead, with the outlines of a training field with targets and stakes in the distance. The faint sounds of boys and girls playing filled the air, much quieter and noisier than the residential area they had just passed.
Following the sound, Shira turned past a dense thicket of bushes and came to a not-too-high but very long brick and stone wall. Behind the wall, she could see the pointed roofs of several buildings of the same style, as well as tall flagpoles.
It's the Konoha Ninja Academy.
At this time, school should not have started yet, but many students had already arrived. From the open space inside the wall came the sounds of chasing and playing, practicing Shuriken, and the children's clear and energetic shouts.
A distant yet familiar atmosphere washed over her. Shira slowed her pace, continuing her jog along the outer edge of the wall, her gaze sweeping over the scene inside: green trees, a playground, swings, a horizontal bar...
It overlapped with the vague image of the Ninja Academy in his memory, yet it was clearly another village, a different landscape.
Just as he was about to run across the section of the wall near the school's main gate, a burst of exceptionally loud laughter and several deliberately raised, clearly malicious taunts clearly crossed the wall and pounded into his ears:
Hey! Look at that guy! He's doing push-ups again!
"Hahaha! What's the point of practicing like this Tenten?"
"Exactly! How did a complete loser who can't even use Ninjutsu get into the Ninja Academy? Did he do it by crying?"
"I heard he's at the bottom of the class in theory too! A complete idiot who only knows Taijutsu!"
"Lowest grade! Lowest grade! Go back to your Anthony Davis hometown!"
The laughter grew even louder, mixed with shoving and the dull thud of something being kicked over.
Shira's steps suddenly froze on the spot.
The slight flush on her face, brought on by the morning run and anticipation, vanished completely in an instant.
It felt as if an invisible hand had gripped his chest tightly. His previously steady breathing suddenly stopped, and a surge of cold, rusty-smelling blood seemed to rush to his head, causing a ringing in his ears.
The sun was shining brightly; the morning in Konoha was as beautiful as a dream.
But every word that drifted from the other side of the wall was like a poisoned needle, piercing with pinpoint accuracy the deepest part of his memory, the place he least wanted to touch.
The whispers and undisguised disdainful glances he had overheard in the corners of the Sand Village Ninja Academy, deliberately forgotten, mingled with the unfamiliar yet equally jarring clamor before him, brutally shattering his recently calmed emotions.
The tail end of the truck.
An idiot who can't even Ninjutsu.
How did they sneak in?
The hands that were clasped together had become clenched into fists, the knuckles white, and trembling slightly.
Shira stood there, like a stone statue suddenly frozen in time, facing the wall that separated the two worlds, and the unbridled malice within the wall.
Sunlight fell on his somewhat pale profile, casting a cold shadow.
It's Sunday afternoon, and I'm sitting on the bus to school, feeling dizzy and lightheaded, still working on my drafts. The thought of taking the bus to school once a week, and then again to go home, making me feel nauseous twice in one go, makes me want to vomit. Ugh...
Looks like I should consider taking the high-speed rail from now on...