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Takuma put his hefty duffle bag in the locker, choosing to put it in the very bottom. Putting it down on any of the higher shelves would risk them breaking from the weight.
He closed the locker, and a long thin mirror on the locker door reflected his image. He only wore his black shorts and the leather guards that protected his forearms and shins. His fight for today was about to start in less than fifteen minutes.
He looked at his bare torso. He had picked up many more scars since he had begun participating in the weapon category. Most shinobi fighters wielded swords or bladed weapons, which left cuts on his body after every fight. He had been cut during the basic training as well, but Enomoto was a chunin who could heal wounds without leaving scars, but genin like Sango, his go-to iryo-nin, didn't have the proficiency in healing the cuts without leaving scars.
He touched the ugly scar on his abdomen inflicted upon him by the Bloodshot. She was honorable enough to stick the kunai in a place that didn't do a lot of damage, but it left behind a reminder like every other big wound did.
The scars he accumulated from fighting were much different from those that had come with the body. The new ones were often ugly and jagged, reflecting the ferocious intent behind them; the old ones were all thin and neat and uniform and clean. The new ones were mostly put expertly where it would hurt the most; the old ones were literally everywhere—
Takuma squeezed his eyes shut as a sharp lacerating pain assaulted his head. He touched his temple and breathed deeply, waiting for the pain to settle. He reminded himself again that it was unwise to think about the boy's past. It only brought him the worst of migraines.
He opened the locker to pull out his Scars mask and put it on as he exited the one-person changing room. The tunnels were damp and silent, but as he walked past similar changing rooms, bigger changing rooms, he could pick up muffled conversations from inside. As he moved towards the fighter's tunnel, the sound of the audience washed over him.
In reaction to the sound, Takuma's posture straightened, and his stride sharpened as though his body had been attuned to the cheers of people with an imminent battle. He nodded to the Ring employee there to confirm he was ready. The man nodded back and walked away.
"… the rising rookie Scars!"
Takuma jogged out of the tunnel; his feet felt light like a feather as he jumped into the arena. His opponent was already there. Bluehare. The petite man squatted near the opposite end of the arena, blue highlights framing the mask's eyes.
Takuma dipped his hands into his back pouch as he gazed at Bluehare. After thinking about it for a moment, he pulled out a kunai each in his hand and ensured his cache of shuriken was in a place he could pull them in a split second if needed.
As the announcer began to walk out, Bluehare stood up and walked toward Takuma. He took two kunai as well. Takuma cracked his neck and began moving as well. He wasn't going to get caught near the edge of the arena.
The metal gate slammed down and at the same time, the two kunai clashed with sparks flying. Tiny metal shards were stripped away from the blades' edges as the fight began with a metallic screech.
The petite Bluehorn was a furious slasher, his hands blurred as two kunai whistled as they cut through the air. Takuma moved through the arena dodging and deflecting Bluehorn's slashing salvo. He moved at a constant pace, and while Bluehorn was on attack, Takuma was leading him through the floor.
He wasn't able to outrun Bluehorn, but he kept moving. His feet didn't stop for anytime longer than a second.
The Ring masks covered facial expressions, but Takuma kept his ears peeled and his eyes observed the rhythm of Bluehorn's movement.
The fighters of the weapons category were divided into two generalized categories: the first category wielded weapons other than those in the standard kit (kunai, shuriken, and senbon)— they wielded swords, staffs, daggers, among other things; the second category was the category that only wielded the standard kit.
Takuma hadn't faced enough of the first category to have a great grasp of every type of weapon and the variations that came with types and fighting styles. Those opponents were difficult for him, and he knew the only way to gain a better battle sense for them was to fight more and more of them. The second kind, he was more familiar with, but even then, everyone had their own way to wield their weapons and create variation through the addition of their own taijutsu skills; however, as he wielded the same weapons, he had a comparatively easier time.
Takuma caught a grunt from Bluehare and flicked his shoulder back to let a slash pass him by. His eyes followed the swing… it had a little more weight behind it than Bluehare's average swing.
And yet, most of the Ring fighters were better than him at wielding weapons. Takuma knew for a fact that he was the only weapons category fighter in his rookie contract. Rest of them had vast amounts of experience over him.
He was at a disadvantage.
And yet… that wasn't anything new. He was used to it by now.
Takuma opened his side to Bluehorn and as the experienced fighter he was, Bluehorn took a swing for it. Takuma, having set up the opening, blocked that attack.
*Screeeeee!*
The fight that had been constantly on the move suddenly came to a stop as Takuma lured Bluehorn into a prone situation. As Bluehorn overcommitted himself to swing, Takuma raised his other kunai and struck it down without mercy.
A painful cry pierced through the arena, cutting through the noisy audience as Takuma's kunai dug into Bluehorn's shoulder, tearing through the deltoid muscle. Best case scenario, one arm was lost for the fight; worst case, he had at least impaired it.
Takuma left the kunai in the wound and took a step back to ready a kick.
Bluehorn roared, louder than what one would expect from such a petite man and in an unexpected speed, swung upward diagonally from his overcommitted space. The tip of his kunai cut a long ribbon across Takuma's chest and upper abdomen.
Blood splattered, staining both their masks and body and adding to the brown on the arena floor.
Takuma had found that feeling pain regularly didn't decrease his ability to feel pain at all. It only helped his ability to endure the pain. He still felt every sharp pang of it. Takuma stumbled back a few steps. It just seemed that Bluehorn had a great pain endurance.
It's okay, thought Takuma, focusing harder against the fleeting feeling that was hitting him. Every exchange had a risk associated with it. The risk had given him something, but it also took away.
He just needed to get better at minimizing the possibility of loss.
Takuma built the tension in his body and released it through his leg that bit into Bluehorn's lower side. When the petite man buckled to the side, Takuma rushed in and socked a punch into Bluehorn's face.
Bluehorn staggered back but very soon regained his balance, he jumped away to put some distance. One beat later, Takuma chased after him, motivated to not let Bluehorn get away. Unexpectedly, Bluehorn didn't continue running and stood ground with kunai in the arm with the good shoulder, and his other arm was clenched in a low guard with Takuma's kunai still sticking from the shoulder.
As Takuma leapt for Bluehorn, he noticed Bluehorn's body leaning to the side where he had kicked him.
'That's not right.'
His kick was effective, but it shouldn't have done that much. Takuma's focus moved towards Bluehorn's entire posture and he noticed that Bluehorn had for some bizarre reason kept his injured shoulder to the front while his good shoulder was on the back.
Why would Bluehorn do that?
Takuma's eyes widened. Bluehorn was injured.
Bluehorn was injured before coming to the fight. Takuma's kick to the side had worsened that injury.
In that split second, Takuma changed his strategy. He readied a kunai in his weak hand and kept his right hand free. He landed a few feet away from Bluehorn and rushed ahead. He ducked under a sloppier slash from Bluehorn and jumped for a rotating kick to the injured shoulder to expose Bluehorn's hidden side.
The moment Takuma landed on his feet, he struck Bluehorn's injury with the kunai and dragged the blade down to open whatever it was. His hand and wrist were dripping with blood by the time Takuma pulled his hand back.
Bluehorn was a resilient fellow as while having a kunai butchering him up, he stabbed Takuma just below the chest. Leaving a kunai there. Takuma cried in pain and fell back. It took his all to resist the panicking urge to pull out the kunai.
However, even in pain, he knew the fight was over.
Bluehorn raised his trembling hand in the air and a sharp shrill horn shrieked through in the arena. The fight was over. Bluehorn had surrendered.
Takuma kept his eye on Bluehorn until the emergency staff entered the arena. Only then did he turn his back to his opponent to walk out of the arena with the staff rushing after him.
He had finally won another one.
———
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Somewhere in the Leaf village, under the late-afternoon sky, Takuma laid down on a portable sat on a tree stump with his arm raised up as Sango held a Shosen Jutsu (Mystical Palm Jutsu) to his side, in the spot where Bluehorn had stabbed him the day before.
Fractures and clean breaks in bones aside, wounds in the weapon category were harsher than in the taijutsu category. Sharp blades split the flesh and made fighters lose a lot of blood. When injured, more often than not, the injuries were of such degree that a single healing session wasn't enough.
Ring had the policy to provide one healing session per fight. That one session was enough that treated wounds would naturally heal with a shinobi's heightened healing capabilities, but maybe not in time for the next fight, which was always around the corner in the Ring.
And Takuma might be a rookie, but he wasn't going to be caught with an old injury. He had made that mistake once during his third fight in the weapons category, never after that.
"And that's about done," said Sango, ending the jutsu. "A good night's rest and you will be fit enough to fight tomorrow." She applied a balm on the spot that had gained yet another scar and wrapped a bandage around his torso.
Takuma put his chainmail vest and black full-sleeved shirt back. "Thank you," he said and handed a wad of cash to Sango, who received it with her manicured finger.
"This is thanks enough," Sango counted the money with a gleeful look of fulfilled greed in her eyes.
Takuma was about to leave when Sango said behind him.
"Even though this is good for me, I care about my patients, so I will tell you. You might want to move back to the taijutsu category. The weapons category fighters fight twice a week to give their bodies enough time for natural healing. Your contract still has you fighting thrice a week. If you're not careful enough, the injuries will pile up," she said.
"If that happens, I'm counting on you to give me a full course," said Takuma with his small smile.
"They say the customer is always right," Sango said and raised the wad of cash she had just earned. She threw him a bottle of blood supplements before leaving. "You know how to find me."
Takuma caught the bottle with an appreciative nod and left as well.
———
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Takuma stared at his wall of notes.
He hadn't just ignored Sango's points. He knew that if he kept getting injured, they would catch up to him. But now wasn't the time to step off the gas and move down to the taijutsu category.
Weapons category provided him opportunities that helped him despite the danger. He was able to use the fights that emulated real combat far better than just the taijutsu in the taijutsu category. Earning mission points was only half the reason Takuma had joined the Ring. The other half of the reasoning was that he wanted to get better at fighting.
Going back to the taijutsu category opposed both the reasons. Yes, he wasn't winning as much in the weapons category, but he believed he would improve, and when that happened, he would earn more per fight in the weapons category.
And finally, if he moved down, the Ring wouldn't "allow" him to practice his very-much-in-the-works chakra augmentation. The weapon category allowed him an opportunity to test out a developing skill and gain valuable feedback that he wouldn't get otherwise.
His current situation was more beneficial for him.
And to keep it beneficial for him, he needed to get injured less.
Takuma stared at the wall.
Every opponent he had fought was featured on the wall. Lengths of yarns went from post to post, creating a wide network of connections with a hundred more notes covering half of the wall.
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The link is in the synopsis!