Team 11: Winner n' Losers, All The Same
The Keys
Green - Miura Lee, Man of Iron
Dark Gold - Rinka Akagi, Child of Heaven
Dark Slate Gray - Akaito Tenyo, Silver Thread
Firebrick - Chosuke-Chosuke Kirobokua, Chosupocylpse
By night, the herd of people wandering the streets had thinned, leaving only a few odd shops and restaurants to be left open and a lot of drunken peasants looking to take some pressure off once the hard day of work was over. When making a sharp turn into one of the alleyways, away from prying eyes, one could happen on a bar that endured wars and famine, nevertheless serving its customers with a good drink, primarily the mentally exhausted shinobi trying to hold onto the dead weight that was their village. Children hardly happen to find this place, but with the directions of their enigmatic teacher, they've reached it, wasting their whole day on mundane tasks he passed onto them: carrying buckets of water to the top of a hill, making a bouquet of flowers together, and helping the elderly. Meaningless labor that suggested someone wanted them gone out of his peripheral vision.
Permission to rest has been granted, and with nothing better to do, they'd stick here, for better or worse. Yet, the burning desire to rebel wouldn't miss a chance to strike when all things went so quiet. The calming atmosphere of the enclosed bar would soon be broken by the words of none other than Genin Tenyo, who sat approximately next to his sensei and has been building up a rove of questions since.
"So..."
"So-so." Miura delivers a fat lip smack, his finger dully going around the edge of a glass filled to the brim with cheap beverage to warm the soul.
"So!" He protests his uninterested attitude. "You said you'd start teaching us, starting today."
"I double that." Rinka's hand remains firmly raised as the Chosukes deliver their support. "Tripled!"
"And you want to oppose that claim," he blankly responds, finally acknowledging the fledging's presence with a look, "because you're feeling that you didn't learn a single thing. Uh-huh."
"I feel?" Yet another non-answer only brings out more confusion. "I don't 'feel'; I speak objectively! You call this menial crap 'learning'!?" In demonstration, he pulls up the basket with the flowers he requested — three bouquets, made individually and unlike each other, with their little flaws and quirks. This display had caught Sensei's attention but brought them little good news. You could hardly even judge this man's thoughts; the windows to his soul were obscured completely by the genetic quirk of a known noble clan.
"Mmm." He sets the basket on the table and waves his hand, gesturing for the gender-bender to get closer, leaving behind the child with cloning tendencies to escape his scolding. Rinka groans, and Miura settles down for an explanation.
"Arts and crafts projects—can't fail this one. Yet—" He knew how a good pause made these teens quietly shit themselves, anticipating a lashing. His lips move, but the tone remains the same. "Yeeet, there's a problem. You two, look at the flowers and tell me, What's wrong with them?"
There it is: a trick question! Akaito could practically feel his neurons satisfied and wouldn't wait a second to knock that incessant sex-switcher's ego down a notch. "It is obvious that mine are better," with arms folded, his barks turn to his comrade, "while she had barely lifted a finger! Chosuke is not worth mentio-"
"Hey!" Akaito's line of fact-twisting ends with a slap at the back of his head. "Who do you think you are, you damn bookworm? I did everything Sensei asked of me while you two sat around and complained! You even stole some of my flowers; I know that for sure!"
"Me? Steal? Don't bore me with your arrogant presumptions." In disgust, he averted his gaze, much to her charging. "Nobody said it wasn't allowed, and it is not my fault you can't see further than your nose. If you spent more time on more practical skills, maybe half the village wouldn't be laughing behind our back, angel lady."
"Why, you-"
A quick slam would cease their bickering and, as a bonus, spill the crippled boy's calcium drink, who had long since forgotten about it and was more intent on watching two "lovers" duck it out. Only the grown-up wasn't happy with this development.
"You shitkids miss the point harder than I miss when taking a piss." With his truly polite and 'flowery' language, Miura continued to chastize. "I asked of you one simple thing: "Make flowers together." Not individually, but as one—your teamwork making the work and your patience perfecting it. That's what you lack. Teamwork, patience, and common sense—but we won't get into it."
And as it was filled with noise, the bar fell silent again when the bartender rolled around to clean up some mess. Being forced to confront the truth that Akaito and Rinka only paid lip service to one of the essentials of being a ninja didn't sit right. They were at each other's throats for the smallest excesses, and soon, their lacking performance would show itself. Chuunin Exams.
"You'll never get things done alone, not when you're so weak and dependent on the circumstances, not your skills. Your tests are a month away, and if you don't make some progress, you won't even make it to the semi-finals."
"And how are we going to make it if you teach jack?"
"He's not 'teaching'; he's wasting our time."
"Oh, I'll teach. I'll teach, but these things have a requirement for them, kid. You need to quit peddling your unification nonsense and start watching your fists flow. Work with your body and mind, and you'll get ahead in life."
"And what's wrong with that? It's a noble following! Do you have anything better, than drinking and wasting away all day?"
"Doubt it. But selling dreams to beggars is a job unfit for a shinobi. Much less, when in the end, the only truly equal man in your unified world will only be you."
The long-winded argument had been brought to an end with a breach in Akaito's armor, forcing him to relent from his teacher's side. Unknown if that would make him think about his goals or people at large, but that was something to set his mind on and let Miura have his breathing space—victory in getting his point across, but anxious that as the laws of the world dictated, his efforts would've been wasted. But no man ever succeeded without taking a risk, and this one had just the right team to earn himself some rightfully deserved recognition among his peers. This generation wasn't allowed to rot, not when tensions were this high.
And just when everybody thought that things had settled down for the second time...
"Sensei?" Chosu-Chosu's unwieldy scissors tapped the man's shoulder, who, in return, had turned his head. "Chosuke."
"You said you can make a man's heart explode with a punch."
"And I didn't lie. Guessing where this conversation goes, you wish that I impart that piece of knowledge on you."
"Well... yeah. You'd finally do something for us, right?"
"And take no responsibility for the bones you're going to break out there." His widening, crooked grin spoke volumes about this man's relationship with violence of the martial kind.
"Gladly. Starting tomorrow, you little shits are getting whipped into shape. Understood?"
Their eyes light up, a sight enough to make any so-called "teacher" turn from horror. He wasn't that old, and even he feared their ridiculous ability to forget any past conversation and go have some dumb fun.