Dream 3 - Exam
Sasori didn't speak when he saw the wind blade slice into his teammate, nearly splitting her in half on the diagonal, blood and intestines and gore splattering. Hisako had been the one who smiled at him, and spoke with him sometimes, unlike the other.
However, before she collapsed, she had embedded three kunai in her opponent, two in their chest, one in their throat.
Her opponent died first. She had won, and made chuunin.
While he watched the medic-nin team silently gather up the pieces of his teammate's dying body, his eyes burned.
But a strong shinobi never showed emotion when faced with death, even the certain death of his comrade.
He felt a hand on his shoulder then, and looked up to see the Third Kazekage gazing down upon him. His face was stern, but there was a slight hint of softness to his eyes.
“No sacrifice is too great if it leads to victory, Sasori,” the Kazekage said. “Your teammate did her duty, and won her battle.”
Sasori nodded, even if he could still feel his insides twisting. Hisako had been strong, it was true, but...it was still a waste, he thought, that she would never have the chance to show her strength again.
That she would never smile at him again, or talk to him while he worked on his puppets. Or sneak out after training to buy sweets, or sit up on the hill near his home and watch the sun disappear behind the cliffs that surrounded the village.
He would remember though, just like he still remembered them, even if no one ever spoke of them anymore. Maybe someday he'd find a way to make sure everyone else would remember, too.
The Kazekage spoke again, snapping Sasori from his reverie. “Your match is next, I believe. I will be watching.”
“Yes, Kazekage-sama. I will do my duty as a shinobi.”
And by the time Sasori had stepped down into the packed earth of the tournament ring, he had buried it all. He would show his strength.
When the giant shuriken his opponent had thrown tore into his shoulder, he didn't flinch. He merely redirected Karasu to tear his opponent's arm off, and watched calmly as flesh and bone and sinew snapped and parted, and blood poured out.
His opponent dropped to his knees, conceding, tears streaming down his face and clutching at what was left of his arm.
Hisako's face had been dry the entire time; she had smiled at him instead of crying, when they'd carried her off. Unlike her, this one was unfit to be called a shinobi.
[Sasori's eyes flutter open to a breathtaking canopy of stars. He props himself up on the desert outcrop outside of Suna that he was reclined on. He had come here to calm his mind after his disagreement with Sakura, but had not anticipated falling asleep.
He had not intended to stay out so late. He dreads it, but it is time for him to head home, even if he is uncertain of what he will confront there. However, this moment from his past, when he was eight years old, does strengthen his resolve. He will do now what he did then, and face what needs to be faced.]
However, before she collapsed, she had embedded three kunai in her opponent, two in their chest, one in their throat.
Her opponent died first. She had won, and made chuunin.
While he watched the medic-nin team silently gather up the pieces of his teammate's dying body, his eyes burned.
But a strong shinobi never showed emotion when faced with death, even the certain death of his comrade.
He felt a hand on his shoulder then, and looked up to see the Third Kazekage gazing down upon him. His face was stern, but there was a slight hint of softness to his eyes.
“No sacrifice is too great if it leads to victory, Sasori,” the Kazekage said. “Your teammate did her duty, and won her battle.”
Sasori nodded, even if he could still feel his insides twisting. Hisako had been strong, it was true, but...it was still a waste, he thought, that she would never have the chance to show her strength again.
That she would never smile at him again, or talk to him while he worked on his puppets. Or sneak out after training to buy sweets, or sit up on the hill near his home and watch the sun disappear behind the cliffs that surrounded the village.
He would remember though, just like he still remembered them, even if no one ever spoke of them anymore. Maybe someday he'd find a way to make sure everyone else would remember, too.
The Kazekage spoke again, snapping Sasori from his reverie. “Your match is next, I believe. I will be watching.”
“Yes, Kazekage-sama. I will do my duty as a shinobi.”
And by the time Sasori had stepped down into the packed earth of the tournament ring, he had buried it all. He would show his strength.
When the giant shuriken his opponent had thrown tore into his shoulder, he didn't flinch. He merely redirected Karasu to tear his opponent's arm off, and watched calmly as flesh and bone and sinew snapped and parted, and blood poured out.
His opponent dropped to his knees, conceding, tears streaming down his face and clutching at what was left of his arm.
Hisako's face had been dry the entire time; she had smiled at him instead of crying, when they'd carried her off. Unlike her, this one was unfit to be called a shinobi.
[Sasori's eyes flutter open to a breathtaking canopy of stars. He props himself up on the desert outcrop outside of Suna that he was reclined on. He had come here to calm his mind after his disagreement with Sakura, but had not anticipated falling asleep.
He had not intended to stay out so late. He dreads it, but it is time for him to head home, even if he is uncertain of what he will confront there. However, this moment from his past, when he was eight years old, does strengthen his resolve. He will do now what he did then, and face what needs to be faced.]