Private A Remedial Ass-Kicking 101 [Class: Shinda, Goro, Hariken]

[Chikamatsu Kohana]

I pushed open the heavy door to one of the training rooms in the Throne of Bone, the bone structure cool under my palm. The space was empty—for now—just matted floors, weapon racks along the walls, and that particular smell of sweat and discipline that clung to every dojo I'd ever been in.

"Fucking fantastic," I muttered under my breath, stepping inside and letting the door swing shut behind me with a heavy thud.

Apparently, somewhere along the line, someone had decided I was qualified to lead "additional combat training" for three students who needed it. Three boys, from what I'd been told. And "additional training" was just a polite way of saying they were so shit at combat that their regular instructors had given up and pawned them off on someone else.

That someone being me. Lucky fucking me.

But here I was anyway, because when the Toraono clan asks you to do something in their own goddamn dojo, you don't really get to say no. Not unless you want to deal with the political fallout, and I had enough problems without adding "pissed off one of Suna's founding clans" to the list.

I walked to the center of the room, rolling my shoulders and cracking my neck. The Sunagakure banner hung on the wall alongside the Toraono clan symbols, all that proud loyalty and tradition shit. It would've been inspiring if I gave a damn.

The files I'd been given were... not encouraging. Three boys who apparently couldn't fight their way out of a wet paper bag. Not detention, technically, but it might as well be. This was where they sent the problem cases, the ones who were falling behind, fucking up, or just plain incompetent.

"This is going to be a nightmare," I said flatly to the empty room.

I started stretching, working out the tension in my muscles while I waited. Rolling my wrists, loosening my shoulders, dropping into a few basic stances to warm up. If I was going to spend the next however-long beating combat sense into three useless students, I might as well be limber for it.

"Alright, Kohana," I muttered to myself, cracking my knuckles. "Don't kill them. Shin would be pissed. Probably."

I glanced at the door, then back at the training mats.

"Let's see what kind of disasters they're sending me."

 

[Kyouketsu Shinda]

Shinda had walked into the Academy, shoulders hunched and loose, eyes narrowed and annoyed. The open training hall smelled faintly of sweat and polished wood, a reminder that discipline reigned here. He muttered under his breath, dragging his feet toward the center mat where Kohana was nearby. Why am I even here?

With a sharp exhale, he peeled off his shirt, tossing it to the side with a flick of his wrist. His lean muscles flexed under the lights, torso completely covered in healed scarring. He didn’t bother masking his annoyance; the irritation radiated off him like heat from the desert.

Then, with a subtle but precise motion, he would use the abilities he had honed in secret. The ridges along his arm shifted slightly beneath his skin as the bone of his right arm visibly shifted. The underside of his palm would split open, flesh and blood clinging to the emerged bone as it jutted out. Grasping hold of the bone with his opposite hand, he would pull causing a wet, tearing sound. The bone emerged, sharp and rigid, the elbow joint forming a handle. It hovered in his grip as naturally as an extension of his own body, a blade covered in blood and bits of flesh.

Shinda flexed his fingers around the handle, testing the balance. The blade hummed faintly, a resonance of raw potential. He glanced toward the teacher, eyes blank and disinterested, though the faint twitch of a grin betrayed a spark of anticipation.

“Let’s get this over with,” he muttered, as his body had already rapidly regenerated the loss bone and closed the wound. A scar forming on his palm.

[WC: 276]
[Topic Entered]

 

[Goro]

Goro approached the Throne of Bone with the slow, rhythmic gait of someone who had already spent twelve hours hauling heavy ore. His six arms were tucked neatly beneath a loose, charcoal-colored poncho, hiding the fact that his middle limbs were still twitching with a residual, nervous energy from his earlier practice.

The weight of the "remedial" label sat heavy on his shoulders. He wasn't like the others; he wasn't a noble or a prodigy with a terrifying lineage. He was just a boy from the lower hives who was starting to realize that having six hands didn't mean anything if you didn't know where to put them.

He pushed the door open, the heavy thud of the bone-wood echoing through the room. He didn't look up immediately. His red eyes were fixed on the floor, lost in contemplation of the advice the Kazekage had given him earlier. Coordination must match ambition.

"Reporting." Goro said, his voice a low, raspy murmur that barely carried across the mats.

He stopped a few paces away from Kohana, finally lifting his gaze. He saw the scars on Shinda's chest and the bloody, wet blade the Kaguya had just birthed from his own palm. Goro didn't flinch. After the things he’d seen in the deep mines and the visceral nature of Shinda's previous spar, he was becoming strangely desensitized to the sight of bone and blood.

Goro reached up and pulled back his hood, revealing his messy silver hair and the dark circles under his eyes. He looked tired, but there was a quiet, stubborn focus in his expression. He didn't offer a boast or a complaint. He simply stepped onto the mat and let his four extra arms slowly unfurl from beneath his poncho, spreading out like a dark, multi-limbed fan.

"Goro, of the Tsuchigumo..." he added, adjusting the bronze greaves on his legs. "Ready to work."

He stood there, a quiet contrast to Shinda's irritation and Kohana's sharp intensity, waiting to be told how he was going to be broken and rebuilt.

[WC: 340]
[Topic Entered]

 

[Kōsa Harikēn]

Practice doesn't lead earn perfection, perfection is built over time and trial. These were the final words that the Kazekage spoke that sunk into him in the class. Perfection in his mind was an unobtainable fallacy; only those with blind ambition believe there to be the level of perfection. Though his pursuit of knowledge would lead him down a chaotic road, bound by twilight and chaos, spiraling into a double helix of uncertainty.

The sting of the term Remedial bore into his head; being that of one of the Lesser Clans, and being thrown into a 'remedial class' ran by one from a Noble Clan felt like an attempt at a sleight, a mark against his people. The Kyouketsu, Tsuschigumo, and the Uzumoreru... Standing side-by-side in the face of "Nobility". Was this really a class, or just an excuse to beat up those that she felt she was better than.

Whatever the case was, Hariken found himself in the Toraono Dojo once again; the sound of repairs echoed of past events that transpired. The air lingered with almost a scorching feel.

Uzumoreru Hariken. Answering the summons. His voice was neither interested or distant; he felt like him being here was pointless, though maybe this was punishment for his pursuit for knowledge and strength... I didn't expect you to be a petty on Kazekage-san He would let a sigh escape his mouth.

The six-armed Tsuchigumo Goro; The calcified vanguard Kyouketsu Shinda; The unforeseen blade Uzumoreru Hariken. Let's get this started then.

[Topic Entered]

 

[Chikamatsu Kohana]

because she will be on sight with you 3, I am [Calling BMod] before RPing my next post. The room is well lit and open space.

 

[Akira Yogan]

Hello!

Your battle mod has arrived.
Send me your Battle Statistics!
Stats, Abilities, Equipment, and Jutsu list!
Don't forget to provide me with anything else I may need.
While you are sending me a copy of this stuff, also link me to your Dojos, Profile, and Training!
Please Send actions in a Separate Message!
Remember, if you provide me with links, I can mod much faster.


​

 

[Chikamatsu Kohana]

((OoC: I am dropping the BMod request, switching this back to a regular RP so that the thread doesn't fall into inactivity. Thank you Yogan for taking this thread, I appreciate it, but this class needs to move at a quicker pace so that these students can partake in an upcoming Genin Exam.))

They trickled in one by one, and I watched each of them the way you watch something you're not sure is worth your time yet.

The first one, Shinda, pulled a blade out of his own arm like it was nothing. Wet, bloody, bone scraping through flesh with that particular sound that makes most people gag. He tossed his shirt aside, showed off a torso full of healed scarring, and looked at me like he was already bored.

The second one, Goro, unfolded six arms from under his poncho like he was revealing something impressive. Quiet kid. Tired eyes. Muttered his name and said he was ready to work.

The third, Hariken, walked in with the energy of someone who had already decided this was beneath him before he'd even seen what "this" was.

I looked at all three of them.

Bone blade. Six arms. Wounded pride.

I felt absolutely nothing.

"Alright. Here's how this is going to fucking work."

I moved to the center of the mat, hands loose at my sides, weight balanced. My voice came out flat and even, the kind of tone that didn't bother performing authority because it didn't need to.

"You three are here because somewhere along the line you convinced yourselves that having something interesting about you was the same thing as being capable. A bone blade. Six arms. Whatever the hell you think makes you special."

I let my eyes move across all three of them, slow and deliberate.

"It doesn't. Not yet. Right now you're just three bitch ass punks standing on a mat who don't know their own weaknesses. And in six days, when whatever the fuck is coming for this village actually arrives, that gap between what you think you are and what you actually are is going to get someone killed."

I paused.

"Probably you. Possibly someone standing next to you. And that's the part that matters, because in a fight you don't get to be the only one who pays for your mistakes."

I rolled my shoulder once, casual, like I was working out a kink.

"So today's lesson is simple. I'm going to show you exactly where you're weak, and you're going to hate me for it, and if you're not a dipshit... if any of you have even a single functioning fucking brain cell between the three of you, you're going to stop being pissed at me and start being pissed at the problem. Which means you're going to have to work together, because individually none of you are going to—"

Caliburnus cleared its sheath mid-sentence.

The aura hit the room before the blade did, a pressure that had nothing to do with chakra technique and everything to do with what I actually was. Thirty-one years of concentrated fury given flesh and form, the part of Shin that wanted to rip and tear and burn, now standing in front of three students in a dojo radiating the kind of Devastating Aura that made your brain scream a single word.

Run.

I didn't give them time to listen to it.

The first slash came fast and diagonal, angled across all three of their positions simultaneously, not deep, not lethal, but close enough that they'd feel the displaced air if nothing else. A pressure cut designed to force them to move, to react, to stop standing there like decorative furniture and actually do something with their bodies, and if they didn't their shirts would have a new hole and their chests would probably start to feel the sting of an open but shallow wound.

"Stop me."

Two words. No elaboration. No further instruction.

I reset my stance and came in again, this time targeting Shinda first, a quick lateral strike aimed at his guard position, testing whether the bone blade was just for show or whether he actually knew how to use it. Then pivoting immediately toward Goro, Caliburnus sweeping low to make those six arms have to decide which ones were for fighting and which ones were just extra weight to manage.

Hariken got the worst of it, not a strike, but presence. I stepped directly into his space, blade angled just past his ear close enough that he'd feel the steel, and looked him dead in the eye from six inches away.

"You walked in here already deciding this was beneath you."

My voice was quiet now. Worse than yelling.

"Fucking prove it."

I stepped back, giving all three of them room, Caliburnus held loose and ready at my side. The aura's pressure in the room hadn't let up, if anything it had settled in deeper, the kind of weight that didn't announce itself anymore, just sat on your chest and made every breath slightly harder than it should be.

"You've got one chance to make me give a shit about any of you. Work together or get walked over individually, your choice. But decide fast, because I'm not waiting."

I tilted my head slightly.

"And for the love of every god that may or may not give a damn about this village, stop standing in a line. That's how you fucking die."