An Interesting Encounter

He didn’t recall falling asleep, as with most nights, he had just closed his eyes and waited for slumber to wrap him in warmth of the bedding and take him away to the ether. As with most nights, he may have dreams that would make no sense come the morning, however, this night was different. It was dark and damp, and he felt observed by the shadows that existed beyond his perception. He tried calling out, but to no avail; his voice wouldn’t work. He shivered as he never had before, his usually cold body unbothered by cold, now felt tense and jittery all at once. Motions felt heavy, as if he was pulled by undertow. A dry croak escaped his throat, his last attempt at voicing his concerns, and a smirk came from behind him. Turning on his lead ankles, he saw a figure; what this figure was, he could not make out. There were no distinctive features to it, other than oily strands of hair at the top of the otherwise completely dark silhouette. Failure, it accused. A low grumbling yell built from within Noboru, who sat up in his bed with the scream escaping his lips, covered in a sheet of sweat, his bedding soaked as well. He shook where he sat, confused. Out the binders, shafts of light illuminated the room, and the dream -- whatever it had been -- escaped his conscious memory.

In spite of this, the day demanded to be lived through; Noboru took a cold shower to bring his temperature down from the night sweating and clean himself, wearing his usual beige shirt and tan pants, as well as leather boots. He fastened the Kirigakure headband around his forehead, making sure the knot wasn't too tight, just enough that it would hold his hair back away from his face, and his tool bags around his belt. His katana would be looped onto the belt.

Now making his way through the streets of the Heavenly Emporium, Noboru got caught off guard by the sound of crashing glass, his head turning and his eyes darting around until a blur of orange and blue landed on the floor of a nearby place of business. Curious, Noboru followed the man, though he lost him shortly after; instead, he kept going where he might’ve gone, until he found himself next to a training facility. Maybe his gut told him this, or he just felt curious about what if one window jumper might come to this place; he went in, and found an orange haired man inside. “Hello”, he called out. Cordial, but also dispassionate. “I am Noboru Yuki. Who might you be?”

“He knows”. That voice, again, just at the edge of perception, growling at the Yuki, alerting him to his current predicament. At least his heart didn’t skip a beat this time. Orange haired, navy blue shirt and shorts, and a variety of tattoos that made the man seem far more dangerous than maybe he truly was. His hand motion was peculiar, as if he were hiding something, and his eyes screamed “alert”, though it may have been Noboru’s fault for sneaking on a man on the run. His pools of glacial water peered onto the dark eyes of the Uzumaki, flecks of gold dancing within the other’s gaze, curious as to why he had done what he did earlier, but also, why the voice felt he knew something the Yuki was ignorant about. If Noboru were to draw his katana now, he would likely be able to cut through the present tension.

Yet, it was broken when the orange haired lad spoke further beyond his greeting. Noboru nodded in agreement. “Yeah. Traders, warriors, swordsmen. Don’t let the sword fool you though”, he said, tapping the sword twice. “I come from a trading branch.” Was that what the voice meant, he wondered? He introduced himself, asking if he could shorten his name. “Nobo…? Sure…” His expression was one of confusion for a second, but he forced out a smile when the man grinned, bringing out his own Kirigakure identifier. This eased his worries; it was just as likely that any ninja who passed the genin exam had, at one point or another, heard of the ‘mighty Yuki clan’, as everyone was wont to call them. “Pleasure to meet you too, Satoru. I think I saw you crash a window, and was just curious to see who could’ve done it.” Two new lads joined them, one dressed in blue as Satoru, the other with a peculiar coloration to his left side bangs of hair. He heard them introduce themselves, before his attention was drawn to the orange headed youth. “F-fight?” It caught him off guard, and it was the last thing he wanted to do, expose himself as a loser and a fraud in front of not one, but three of his compatriots. “He knows… and soon, they will all know…” There it was again. He would shut it down.

“I guess I can cancel my appointment to just drink sake by the pool.” He interlocked his fingers and popped the joints off, stretching his arms, chest and shoulders. “Just go easy on the face. It’s the money maker.”

Nobo chuckled at the notion that Satoru might’ve actually jumped off a window a couple stories above ground to escape the awkward scenario of being in a party he wasn’t interested in participating in. Yet, it didn’t seem the tattooed man wanted to dwell on that. Instead, he waved his hand at Nobo’s comment about going easy on the face. “I’ll use the scabbard, if it makes you feel better.” He drew the kanata out of the sheathe, took a few paces back, and placed it on the floor against a covering wall. He pulled the scabbard upward to allow him to ‘draw it’, as it were. He made sure to include a clause against murder. Noboru wouldn’t even consider a killing blow in this scenario, he was hesitant to hurt a compatriot as it was. Satoru then motioned towards the two newcomers as possible targets depending on how their own fight went. “I’m game if they are.”

He steeled his mind for what was to come, his left hand grasping the scabbard of his sword as he lowered his stance, relaxing his muscles for the violence he must unleash in this here ground. A thousand Yuki looked on from the Peaceful Land onto the hallowed grounds, where they would judge whether their genetic code was up to the task they all once had in life. His left foot shimmied backwards cautiously as he lowered himself, a reverse stance to make the most use out of his sword -- or rather, his scabbard, while his right foot faced forwards towards the golden eyed orange head, before the tip dug in and let the heel angle outwards. He never even heard the man’s last name. A gulf opened between the two minds; there Nobo gave away his clan and his own peculiarities, while the other was safe in a haven of his own making.

He breathed in through his nose, and let it out peacefully, his glacial blue eyes locking onto the golden marbles of the orange headed Satoru.

Nobo intensely observed Satoru’s every motion, and pondered on what his plan might be -- what kind of attack would he launch against the cold skinned Yuki? Yet, he seemed almost distracted, as he looked around, before making his way away from their confrontation to pick up a length of bamboo. He made his way towards him, or rather his blade, making a comment on how Noboru wasn’t a trader with his kind of stance, chuckling aftwards. “I wouldn’t have a blade if I didn’t take lessons on how to use it.” It seemed like a straightforward explanation; in fact, he wanted to somewhat distance himself from his own family’s business, and carve his name onto the list of swordsmen from the Yuki. When he was younger, this had been out of romanization of the Yuki Swordsmen… nowadays, he knew he just wasn’t bright enough to be a merchant, and as such, a swordsman was the second best thing a Yuki could be.

“S-sure…” Noboru rose from his lowered stance, observing as his opponent used the end of his katana to carve onto the bamboo. Though he could not see what was happening, soon Satoru turned to reveal a makeshift flute. Flute versus the scabbard? Perhaps the Yuki was still experiencing his fever dream. “Well, that hardly seems fair, at least you knew what you were up against when you picked the fight.” While it seemed preposterous one could use a flute in a fight, the Yuki was more paranoid at the how. How was a flute going to be of use in this? Did he plan to disrupt him with mocks and sharp sounds? Was this some sort of joke, to which he was the butt of? His concerns mounted, but he tried to keep them under wraps. His chest tightened, where his heart may be. “Beware”, growed the voice. “Are we doing this”, he questioned towards Satoru, unable to let but a sliver of his frustration escape his lips.

Satoru’s comment had traction. “All things being the same, levvies would usually be given spears. They are just as deadly but don’t need much training at all.” A random fact his uncle once told him. “I think”, he justified himself, not willing to admit the thought was not his own, but something he had heard from his uncle and which he never bothered to double check and make sure was the truth. Satoru’s intense gaze nearly brought about a rumble at the edge of perception, as if sound was slowly being eclipsed and muffled out of the world surrounding the arena. When Satoru confirmed the fight would happen, the Yuki drew out his scabbard from the belt, and rotated his right foot to switch his weight and stance, the scabbard now in his right hand as it pointed away from himself and Satoru, and his left hand facing Satoru with an open palm.

Whenever you’re ready, claimed Satoru, bringing the flute to his mouth. Noboru gulped on a dry throat.

He girated his left wrist so the palm faced himself, and invited Satoru with a couple quick motions of his fingers.

Behind him, it appeared the scuffle might’ve started as well, but Noboru didn’t allow this to distract him. Should the noise come closer, he might have enough of a warning to avoid getting hurt from his blindside. His attention was focused on Satoru’s chest, his vision encompassing his being -- his whole nearly one foot over the Yuki being -- for any signs of motion. The orange head fell into a fighting stance of his own, almost standard for one who knew how to fight, but every bar brawler he had faced knew how to fall into stance, they just didn’t know how to keep it once it got personal.

He shouted at Nobo, not to be scared, and to show why the Yuki were so feared, cackling afterwards. Bait, of course. Whatever it was he had planned, he didn’t account for Noboru to stand his ground. If the fight was to happen one had to attack either way; if this was indeed bait, there was no guarantee that biting with that foreknowledge gave him any advantage, but it was the clicking of that over voice that got him over the edge. It rejoiced in the bait, it acknowledged Noboru’s insufficiencies. He would show them both.

“Got cold feet? It’s understandable… I am Yuki after all.” He brought the scabbard around, and with his left hand palm now facing Satoru, his thumb stuck out to form an L where he rested the tip of the scabbard. It was quite a distance, but one that would allow the Yuki to formulate a plan as he took into a sprint towards the larger man. His stance made it so his right hand was closest to Noboru, an indication he might be left handed, or that this was indeed a trap. Five meters. The obvious blindside of attack would be to strike at his right side, Noboru’s left, as it would take him additional time to turn his body.

Three meters. Now we were in dangerous territory. If anything up to this point changed, the Yuki would have taken appropriate action. However, all things being the same, he would take a step to the left, before immediately pushing away hard towards the right -- he rotated the scabbard with his wrist, and swung to hit the orange man across the chest, aiming at the flute in his hands.

Satoru began to laugh when he made his comment, and lost his composure when Noboru dashed forwards. He didn’t let this deter him, he knew well enough this was a setup to begin with. Yet he was oblivious to the action of his right hand hidden away during the disingenuous laughing act. Just before the Yuki got close enough to unleash his bait and switch, the orange head began to step backwards, matching his speed almost perfectly. Not that Noboru was that fast, he knew of the legends of Yuki who would disappear soon as the opponent blinked their eyes, and he was still a long ways from that, but that this gargantuan man was able to match his step backwards with enough precision to take specific steps in which he avoided environmental hazards was nothing short of absolutely magical to the Yuki. He didn’t have time for this though; adjusting his hand into a one handed Tiger seal, the Yuki began spitting out a stream of bubbly water, aimed just under his own scabbard, now held onto the thumb of the Tiger seal hand, so that it may obstruct Satoru’s vision, and aiming at between the orange headed man’s legs, so it would start hitting just beyond his feet, or rather, to where his feet would soon be. Should Satoru keep going, he would find himself losing his balance fast, as this technique was not one that allowed for Surface Walking, given the nature of the slippery liquid’s constant motion, and as such, Noboru would keep the technique up and aim it in the direction Satoru moved. Given the technique’s speed and the relative short distance between his own rotation of the head to aim, it was likely it would find it’s mark eventually. If he stopped in his tracks to avoid the technique, Noboru would once again feign to the left before dashing right and aim at the flute in his hands.

“What?” The Uzumaki appeared to be able to step calmly over his wild bubble wave, and before he could help himself, he was stepping over them -- panicked, he tried to slow himself down, however he slide towards the left and landed on his own head, the impact which fortunately saved him from injuring his pride. How was it possible to fall towards the left when he was moving forward; he should’ve gained his balance and been able to slide easily forwards as he might’ve done once or twice in the past. Satoru’s stepping was also all wrong, he should be moving away towards Noboru’s back, yet the footing was heard going away towards his right. He slid away from his own technique, stabbing the scabbard onto the ground to allow himself to build momentum out of the technique, before he got back to his feet. His forehead was hurting from where he hit the floor, the titanium plate likely now impressed onto his pale skin, but it was the dissonance that bothered him and brought about pains on his temples. His opponent was playing with his senses.

The orange head once again laughed, and again his temples rang with pain. The sound was distorted, almost as if it was not coming from Satoru at all. Once again he brought up the subject of his clan -- his eternal shackle -- to underline the lackluster performance of the Yuki. Ringing further and further as he spoke more, it seemed like the purpose of the flute might’ve been to throw him off his senses, his hearing disturbed as more and more he heard the orange headed around, but not from where he looked at. He broke into further laughter, and Noboru laid in his puddle for a moment panting at the unexpected exertion of the fall he took.

Had you faced the right direction, it might’ve worked. What the hell was that supposed to mean? He used his scabbard and got himself to his feet, now away from his technique, which discontinued made the water revert back to it’s liquid, harmless property. “He mocks you… he knows you are weak…” Yet, now that the genjutsu was dispelled, his perception was forcefully reintroduced to reality, and he managed to see where Satoru stood for real. The discomfort at his temples became a sharp pain for a moment, one replicated in his sternum. “Oh, you know”, he called out now that his breath was regular once more, “before you can make ice, you need water first”, he tapped on the puddle, and immediately the water started to gather and circle his blade. “Now, I need to catch my breath, so why don’t you come in for a swing, big guy?”, he questioned as he raised his scabbard to aim at Satoru while the water circled the scabbard.

Satoru nodded when Noboru asked him to take a swing of his own, yet the realization that he was capable of changing one’s perception was slowly creeping along the sides of his brain. What else was he capable of? That damned flute, too. Why did he bother crafting a makeshift flute if he wasn’t going to play it? With scabbard held in front of him, the water flowing peacefully along it, Noboru observed as the Uzumaki once again moved, a speed he himself was able to match should he want, yet he remained facing forward with scabbard held to his chest height, the weight of the scabbard now pronounced by the water, his arm held on though.

Once the range was dangerously close, the man threw a kick which he could only be surmised as amateurish, lacking proper form, yet he had decided to attack his right side, which held the blade. Noboru exhaled. As the left circled, a quick snap motion of his arm closed the distance between the scabbard and the thigh of the orange headed man, and on contact it would reduce his strength by one magnitude; moreover, if it did connect, it would push down and away on his leg with unbearable force, which would likely cause him to lose balance. Should this take place, the Yuki would then jab his scabbard forward, aiming at the abdomen of his opponent to once again push him away with a flow of powerful water, which his constitution would not allow to fight against.

Satoru’s foot slammed against the side of the Yuki even as his own eyes saw the scabbard connecting to the leg! Recoiling in pain, he observed as the orange head would retreat once again. How? How could this be! He knew the swung the right way, yet it did not connect, as if he had…

...swung the opposite direction? He took a second to brace himself with his reality. His eyes darted left and right. Where he and Satoru had begun moving, where he now was. It didn’t make sense, he had run straight. Yet he was deviated to the right of where he had run toward. Now he had swung right, but clearly that didn’t happen. Noboru could feel the anger bubbling inside of him… the anger and resentment towards Satoru built up, yet, he broke himself as a burst of laughter came out of him.

“Genjutsu! Of course!” It had been more than just mere ninjutsu forcing his motions -- his actual perception of the world and his motions had been robbed from him. Yet, even in school with his lackluster command of common ninjutsu, he never paid much mind to the arts of the mind. “I gotta say, that was well played.” He winced at the pain on his right ribs. The voice at the back of his head growled. “He knew”, it whispered. “I don’t know how”, how you knew, he might’ve added if he believed the voice, “but your style seems to be a glaring weakness to mine.” “No”, whispered the voice. It urged the Yuki to fulfil his destiny. The realization of what he might’ve done to Satoru left him with a perplexed look. “I think I’m hungry.” Being hungry would make most people feel homicidal, right? “You hungry?”

As Satoru approached, Nobo released the water from his thrall, allowing the liquid to once again become the harmless lifegiver. When Satoru towered over him with an extended helping hand, Noboru took it. “He looks down on us.” Noboru grimmaced and let out a minor grunt of effort as Satoru helped him. Us? What did that mean? Satoru interrupted his train of thought wherever it was meant to lead. The accusation that he sucked at Genjutsu was a firm one -- guilty of the charge. He grinned and offered Noboru to retaliate, as a means of making the two even. “He pities us…” it said. Noboru shook his head. “You earned those hits. I’ll earn mine. Just… maybe not today.” The money maker comment made him chuckle. “Sure”, he’d say in jest, as if to imply Satoru’s money maker was not his face.

Satoru explained that Noboru was quite the warrior, save for the redirection. “Yeah, I never encountered anything like that before. Had me thinking I was still dreaming for a moment.” Satoru stood with his eyes closed for a second as if expecting the hit, but once closed, the offer sounded solid. “Ramen sounds like as nutritious a breakfast as anything else I can think of.”