“Likes me, likes me not, likes me, likes me not…” sang Risako near a growing pile of discarded flower petals.
The method was awkward, but she felt confident that it would help her resolve a serious impasse in her life as a ninja in training.
Finally, Risako stayed her hand, holding the last petal with a powerful grip, as if drawing upon a lifeline.
Yes, the answer was yes.
Grinning from ear to ear, Risako got off the ground and dusted off the brittle stony dirt common to her new home.
She walked towards the object of her affections and grasping all her courage, she pressed on,
bringing her lips towards his shining glare, sealing their bond with a vow never to let go.
The Kunai fell harmlessly against the target board with a loud metallic thud, leaving the paper bullseye target quite unmarked.
“Traitorous Bastard!” shouted Risako, clenching her drawn-out fingers into a fist, either oblivious to the fact that she had broken faith with the blade first or otherwise incapable of forming a connection between a promise made and a promise kept. The student marched on the discarded training Kunai, ignoring the dozens of its brethren that lay forgotten between her and the practice target. Her hand seemed to reach out for the fallen blade, but it then seemed to pause in midair and made an unlikely twist towards the target, delivering a punch directly to the dead center. Paper and plywood buckled but held against her strike. Risako withdrew her hand from the target with a cry of both pain and frustration, revealing a red soreness and a few light cuts, but otherwise little damage to tissue. So weak had been her strike, she could not even cause serious damage to herself.
Weak, she was still weak. She had seen the experienced Ninja practice in the training grounds and she could not find any correlation between their abilities, and whatever mysterious potential that was supposedly equally present inside her too.
How many days had it been? She did not know. Time seemed to both fly and crawl at the same time ever since that man turned his back on her with a suitcase full of cash. Taking a deep breath, and then a few others to calm her nerves, she gently picked up the Kunai and started to walk back towards the throwing line. Once she reached her destination, she closed her eyes and tried to remember what that man said, how he had moved his hands and feet, and what her own limbs felt like as he corrected her stance.
“A capable Shinobi never relies on the first strike. In battle, always assume something will go wrong and plan your contingencies…oh, that’s what you should do if your first plan didn’t work out. Say, you are throwing a Kunai, one of those black daggers; your enemy will see you doing that and ether intercept it or move out of the way. It’s the second and third Kunai you should really count on. An enemy will probably think the same way, so, if you can do something unexpected with your first strike, and use the second and third as the diversion, your enemy will probably not see that coming”.
Eyes still closed with concentration, her limbs glided into position, her legs assuming a slight curvature, her right hand moving out of the way to her side, while her left hand's fingers assumed their throwing position. With a quick look towards the target, Risako angled to her right and let the blade slip away.
For a moment, it seemed as if the blade would miss the target again, but when it hit, it formed a deep gash on the right end of the bullseye; far from the dead center, but none the less a hit, and quite possibly a mortal one if inflicted upon flesh and blood.
“If you can do something unexpected with your first strike, your enemy will probably not see that coming.”
Risako smiled, she had not struck the bullseye, and she still did not think she could.
But this time around, it had not been what she was aiming for at all.
The method was awkward, but she felt confident that it would help her resolve a serious impasse in her life as a ninja in training.
Finally, Risako stayed her hand, holding the last petal with a powerful grip, as if drawing upon a lifeline.
Yes, the answer was yes.
Grinning from ear to ear, Risako got off the ground and dusted off the brittle stony dirt common to her new home.
She walked towards the object of her affections and grasping all her courage, she pressed on,
bringing her lips towards his shining glare, sealing their bond with a vow never to let go.
The Kunai fell harmlessly against the target board with a loud metallic thud, leaving the paper bullseye target quite unmarked.
“Traitorous Bastard!” shouted Risako, clenching her drawn-out fingers into a fist, either oblivious to the fact that she had broken faith with the blade first or otherwise incapable of forming a connection between a promise made and a promise kept. The student marched on the discarded training Kunai, ignoring the dozens of its brethren that lay forgotten between her and the practice target. Her hand seemed to reach out for the fallen blade, but it then seemed to pause in midair and made an unlikely twist towards the target, delivering a punch directly to the dead center. Paper and plywood buckled but held against her strike. Risako withdrew her hand from the target with a cry of both pain and frustration, revealing a red soreness and a few light cuts, but otherwise little damage to tissue. So weak had been her strike, she could not even cause serious damage to herself.
Weak, she was still weak. She had seen the experienced Ninja practice in the training grounds and she could not find any correlation between their abilities, and whatever mysterious potential that was supposedly equally present inside her too.
How many days had it been? She did not know. Time seemed to both fly and crawl at the same time ever since that man turned his back on her with a suitcase full of cash. Taking a deep breath, and then a few others to calm her nerves, she gently picked up the Kunai and started to walk back towards the throwing line. Once she reached her destination, she closed her eyes and tried to remember what that man said, how he had moved his hands and feet, and what her own limbs felt like as he corrected her stance.
“A capable Shinobi never relies on the first strike. In battle, always assume something will go wrong and plan your contingencies…oh, that’s what you should do if your first plan didn’t work out. Say, you are throwing a Kunai, one of those black daggers; your enemy will see you doing that and ether intercept it or move out of the way. It’s the second and third Kunai you should really count on. An enemy will probably think the same way, so, if you can do something unexpected with your first strike, and use the second and third as the diversion, your enemy will probably not see that coming”.
Eyes still closed with concentration, her limbs glided into position, her legs assuming a slight curvature, her right hand moving out of the way to her side, while her left hand's fingers assumed their throwing position. With a quick look towards the target, Risako angled to her right and let the blade slip away.
For a moment, it seemed as if the blade would miss the target again, but when it hit, it formed a deep gash on the right end of the bullseye; far from the dead center, but none the less a hit, and quite possibly a mortal one if inflicted upon flesh and blood.
“If you can do something unexpected with your first strike, your enemy will probably not see that coming.”
Risako smiled, she had not struck the bullseye, and she still did not think she could.
But this time around, it had not been what she was aiming for at all.
Word count: 697-Opportunist core ability request