“Come on, boy. What’s the matter? You scared, you little dog?” The pale-skinned Taro shouted mockingly at his opponent, still standing in the entrance to the arena. His loose light grey shirt and pants contrasted the colourfulness of his intense electric blue hair, which hung as low as his chin. His facial structure matched his comically thin body (so thin that he wore his forehead protector across his chest), but his mouth and teeth were huge (especially when he smiled), his nose seemed stretched and his eyes glimmered a light green. This was going to be easy if this little bugger was too afraid to even step in the arena. But his opponent had other ideas.
Okuri stepped into the arena with pride and drive. Today was a day to show the world just how strong he was; today was a day to win! His opponent seemed surprised by his build and stature, perhaps even fearful.
“Hajimae.”
One word. One command. Two syllables. And the combatants began their battle.
Unlike last time, Okuri began offensively. He swung his left arm to grab Taro’s head, and when the lightning nin had dodged it, then thrust his right arm forward to catch an unprotected arm. Using it as leverage, he twisted his body and drove Taro the ground. Taro panicked and kicked Okuri in the face, causing him to let go. Before he could cover his face, Taro was back on his feet and had planted his fist in his face, forcing him to stumble backwards. Taro reached forward for Okuri’s throat, but the beastly boy grabbed his forearms and placed them both in a deadlock.
High up in the audience, Itachi sat, a spectator to the conflict below him. Beside him on his right side sat Jitsu, one of his greatest annoyances. She followed him wherever he went, except when Okuri was around. Either she could not stand the boy or she simply didn’t want to break his heart. It didn’t matter, and it could have been a dumb coincidence for all Itachi cared.
2 seats to his left sat his other team mate, Chika Hyuuga. She wore a tight pair of brown-bluish pants, a beige t-shirt and a deep violet jacket. Her hair was a subtle shade of blue, hanging down at the sides of her face, barely touching the back of her neck. Itachi believed that to say that she had a crush on Okuri would be inaccurate. Rather, she had found him a rather unique and fascinating creature, and imitated some of his habits (such as wearing her forehead protector ON her forehead, instead of using it as a hairpiece like most other kunoichi of her generation) in hopes of gaining strength similar to his. However, despite her physical and mental training, she remained weak in personality and never really stood up for herself.
“He certainly turned this into a physical match quite quickly.” Itachi chuckled. “But what else can you expect from that brute?”
“I’m surprised that Taro fellow let him. He used much ninjutsu in that last match we saw him in, and some fairly complicated genjutsu in the Forest of Death. No good ninja would let a taijutsu specialist rush him when he’s got a skill base like his.” Jitsu slyly commented.
Chika shook her head. “If he’s so bad at taijutsu, why is he doing so well? He must’ve chosen to engage in close range combat….”
“You have no idea how far you are from the truth.” Itachi snapped coldly. “He didn’t choose, Okuri didn’t give him any choices. His block, his counterattacks, they were nothing but panicked instinct. He only went for Okuri’s throat because it was part of his Burning Skin jutsu.” He focused intently on the struggle below. “On top of that, Okuri’s more trained for night missions, and it’s showing in his visual prowess. Taro’s out of his element, and Okuri knows it.” He leaned back, keeping his red Sharingan on the arena. “He won’t let him get any breathing space. And if Taro doesn’t get any breathing space…….” Itachi put his hands together, his elbows on the armrests and rested his upper lip on the back of his hands. “…..then his whole battle plan is going to fall apart.”
