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Chapter Text

---### **Scene 1: The Demon and The Boy**

**EXT. SUNGAKURE - DAY**

**SOUND** of a dry, relentless wind whistling through desert canyons.

**NARRATOR (3rd Kazekage - V.O.)**
Twelve years ago, a catastrophe befell Sunagakure. Not an invading army, not a rival nation... but a demon. The sand demon raccoon spirit, Shukaku. Its rampage was a force of nature, a sandstorm given hateful form. It threatened to scour our village from the earth.

**[FLASHBACK - EXT. SUNGAKURE - DAY - 12 YEARS AGO]**

The screen is a chaotic mess of swirling, violent sand. Buildings crumble. Shinobi are tossed like dolls. In the center of it all, the monstrous form of SHUKAKU roars, a sound that shakes the very sky.

Suddenly, a shadow darts across the sun. A giant HAWK, sleek and powerful, dives from above. Riding it, cloaked and resolute, is the FOURTH KAZEKAGE, RASA.

He doesn't flinch. His hands are already weaving a series of seals, his Gold Dust shimmering around him, ready to meet the Invading Sand.

**NARRATOR (3rd Kazekage - V.O.)**
Our only hope was our leader. The Fourth Kazekage. He made the ultimate sacrifice to seal the beast away... and save us all.

The flashback ends abruptly.

**EXT. SUNGAKURE STREETS - DAY - PRESENT**

The chaotic roar of the beast is replaced by the chaotic yelling of SUNA CHUNIN.

A wall of a building explodes outward, not from an attack, but from a massive, uncontrolled wave of SAND. Running atop it, a blur of red hair and a defiant scowl, is 12-year-old GAARA.

He’s not malicious, but intensely frustrated, causing a path of minor destruction. Sand swirls around him, lifting market stalls, blocking streets, and generally causing a mess.

**CHUNIN #1**
Get back here, you little menace!

**CHUNIN #2**
The Kazekage monument! He’s heading for the monument!

Gaara leaps from his wave of sand, landing on the steep, carved face of the mountain that bears the likenesses of the Kazekage. He begins sliding down the Fourth’s stone cheek, scuffing the rock with his sand.

Just as several Chunin close in, a calm voice cuts through the noise.

**YASHAMARU (O.S.)**
I believe that’s quite enough for today, Gaara.

YASHAMARU, a kind-faced man with a gentle demeanor but the sharp eyes of a Jonin, stands below. He doesn't move to attack. He simply looks up, a faint, tired smile on his face.

Gaara glares down at him, his sand bristling like a threatened animal.

**GAARA**
You can’t tell me what to do.

**YASHAMARU**
Perhaps not. But I can ask you to help me clean the mess you’ve made. It’s a more productive use of your energy than being chased.

Gaara’s defiance wavers, replaced by sullen acceptance. The sand slowly recedes back into his gourd. He knows Yashamaru is different. He doesn’t carry the fear the others do.

**LATER**

Gaara is using his sand to painstakingly smooth out the scuff marks on the Fourth Kazekage’s stony face. Yashamaru watches from a ledge nearby.

**YASHAMARU**
You have remarkable control. When you choose to use it.

**GAARA**
Why does it matter? It’s just a rock.

**YASHAMARU**
It is a symbol. Of the leaders who have protected us. Like the Fourth. He gave his life to protect this village from the very power you now wield. Show respect.

Gaara is quiet for a long moment, his work slowing.

**GAARA**
...I don’t mind. It’s not like there’s anyone waiting for me at home anyway.

The sentence is delivered not with self-pity, but as a simple, cold fact of his existence. It hangs in the air.

Yashamaru’s gentle smile finally falters. He looks at the boy—his nephew—shouldering a loneliness no child should ever know. The order to keep their relation a secret feels heavier than ever.

He hops down from the ledge and walks over, placing a hand on Gaara’s shoulder. Gaara flinches slightly, unused to the contact.

**YASHAMARU**
When you are finished... I know a place that serves excellent tsukemen. My treat.

Gaara looks up, his wide-eyed, confused stare meeting Yashamaru’s kind one. The offer is so simple, so normal, it’s utterly alien to him.

**GAARA**
...Why?

**YASHAMARU**
Because everyone should have someone to share a meal with.

Yashamaru’s smile returns, warmer now. Gaara just stares, the first tiny, unseen crack appearing in the fortress of his isolation.

 

---

**EXT. SUNGAKURE MARKET - LATER**

The harsh sun beats down on the dusty streets, but the air is filled with the inviting smells of spiced food. Yashamaru leads Gaara to a small, modest stall with a curtain bearing the kanji for "Noodles."

A man in his late fifties, YAMORI, is busy behind the counter. He has a tired but friendly face and moves with the efficient grace of someone who has done this for years.

**YASHAMARU**
Yamori! Two specials, please.

Yamori looks up, his smile genuine when he sees Yashamaru. It falters for only a fraction of a second when he sees the red-haired boy beside him. A flicker of recognition, then of caution, quickly masked by professional warmth.

**YAMORI**
Sensei. And for your... student? Coming right up.

He gets to work. Gaara stands awkwardly, unsure of where to put his hands. He’s never been invited anywhere before. Yashamaru gently guides him to sit on a stool at the counter.

Soon, Yamori places two large bowls in front of them. The rich, savory aroma of the broth is overwhelming. Beside each bowl is a smaller dish of cold, perfectly arranged noodles.

**YAMORI**
Your tsukemen. The broth is especially good today.

He looks directly at Gaara and gives him a small, kind wink.

**YAMORI (CONT'D)
Careful, it's hot. But I have a feeling you're tougher than you look.

It’s a simple, off-hand comment. But to Gaara, it’s seismic. It isn’t fear. It isn’t hatred. It’s… kindness. Acknowledgment. He stares at Yamori, then down at the bowl, utterly bewildered.

He mimics Yashamaru, dipping a few noodles into the steaming broth and taking a tentative bite. His eyes widen slightly. It’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

They eat in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the quiet slurping of noodles. Gaara, for the first time, looks… peaceful.

**GAARA
Why do they have it?

**YASHAMARU
Hm? Have what?

**GAARA
The monument. For the Kage. Why do they get one?

Yashamaru finishes his mouthful, considering his words carefully.

**YASHAMARU
Because they are our heroes. The strongest shinobi who dedicated their lives, and sometimes gave them, to protect Sunagakure. Each face on that rock represents a generation of safety. A promise that the village will endure.

He pauses, his gaze drifting toward the monument visible over the rooftops.

**YASHAMARU (CONT'D)
The Fourth... he holds a special place in my heart. His sacrifice was the greatest of all.

Gaara’s eyes light up with a fierce, sudden passion.

**GAARA
I read about him. In the scrolls. He fought the raccoon. He saved everyone. He wasn’t afraid.

He looks down at his own hands, clenching them into small fists on the counter.

**GAARA (CONT'D)
I’m going to be Kazekage, too.

Yashamaru freezes, his chopsticks halfway to his bowl.

**GAARA (CONT'D)
I’ll be the strongest. I’ll protect the whole village. Then... then everyone will have to acknowledge me. They’ll see me. Not just the... they’ll see *me*.

The declaration is raw, filled with a desperate, lonely hope. It’s the most he’s ever said at once.

Yashamaru looks at him. The man’s expression is a complex storm of emotions. There’s a glimmer of pride at the boy’s ambition. But it’s instantly drowned out by a deep, profound pity. His smile is sad.

**YASHAMARU
That... is a noble dream, Gaara. The most noble one a shinobi of Suna can have.

But his eyes tell a different story. They glance almost imperceptibly at the gourd on Gaara’s back. He knows the terrible, ironic truth that Gaara is utterly blind to.

The very beast the boy idolizes his "hero" for defeating—the source of the power he will use to try and become a hero himself—is the same monster sealed within him, the very reason the village will never truly see him.

The weight of the secret is crushing.

**CLOSE ON** Gaara, taking another determined bite of noodles, inspired by a dream built on a foundation he doesn't know is a lie.

 

**INT. SUNA NINJA ACADEMY - EXAMINATION ROOM - DAY**

The room is stark, functional. A single Suna-nin proctor sits at a desk, looking bored. A line of TWELVE-YEAR-OLDS fidgets nervously.

Gaara stands among them, his expression one of intense, focused anxiety. This is his third attempt. The other students give him a wide berth, their fear a palpable force.

**PROCTOR**
Gaara of the Desert.

Gaara steps forward. His small hands are clenched.

**PROCTOR (CONT'D)
The jutsu for this year's graduation is the Clone Technique. You may begin.

Gaara’s shoulders slump almost imperceptibly. A tiny, frustrated pout forms on his lips. *Of course.* This one jutsu. The one that requires precise, controlled chakra molding. The exact opposite of the raging, unstable power inside him.

He had failed because of it twice before.

He takes a breath, brings his hands up, and forms the familiar ram seal.

**GAARA**
Clone Technique!

There’s a puff of smoke and a distorted, sand-filled spasm of chakra. When it clears, a single, pathetic lump of sand, vaguely human-shaped, lies twitching on the floor before collapsing into a grainy pile.

A few students snicker, quickly stifling their laughter under the proctor’s glare.

From the back of the room, YASHAMARU watches, his face a mask of quiet disappointment. He closes his eyes for a moment, a silent sigh escaping him.

Beside him, another Jonin instructor, YURA, leans in. He has a sharp, calculating face and a deceptively calm demeanor.

**YURA**
(Whispering)
Yashamaru. The boy clearly has power. More than any three of these other children combined. Are we really going to hold him back for a parlor trick? Let him pass. For the village’s sake.

Yashamaru’s eyes open. They are firm.

**YASHAMARU**
The rules are the rules, Yura. He must pass the exam like everyone else. Acknowledgment cannot be given. It must be earned. To do otherwise would be an insult to him.

Yura simply shrugs, a faint, unreadable smile playing on his lips.

**PROCTOR**
Failed. Next!

Gaara doesn’t move for a second. He just stares at the pile of sand at his feet, his face burning with a mixture of shame and boiling anger. He turns and walks out, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

**EXT. ACADEMY COURTYARD - LATER**

The sun is setting, casting long shadows. Gaara sits alone on a rusty swing, not moving. The chains creak in the dry wind.

Around him, the successful graduates are being met by proud parents, receiving headbands, hugs, and congratulations. The joy is a physical wall around him.

Two WOMEN stand nearby, gossiping. They glance his way, their voices low but carrying.

**WOMAN 1**
...only one to fail again. It’s a disgrace.

**WOMAN 2**
What did you expect? That thing isn’t like the other children. It’s better it stays out of the shinobi ranks.

Gaara’s head is bowed. His sand stirs faintly in his gourd, reacting to his simmering rage and hurt.

Suddenly, a shadow falls over him. He looks up.

It’s YURA. He stands there, his arms crossed, looking down at Gaara not with pity, but with a cool, appraising expression.

**YURA**
They don’t understand, do they?

Gaara just glares, suspicious.

**YURA (CONT'D)
They see a failed test. A puddle of sand. They don’t see the ocean of power that lies beneath it. They fear what they cannot comprehend.

He gestures with his chin toward the celebrating families.

**YURA (CONT'D)
They celebrate mediocrity because it is safe. They are afraid of true strength. The kind of strength that saved this village twelve years ago.

Gaara’s glare softens into confusion. This isn’t the reaction he’s used to.

**YURA (CONT'D)
Yashamaru is a good man. He believes in rules and order. But sometimes… rules are for those who are not destined to break them.

Yura kneels down, bringing himself to Gaara’s eye level. His voice is low, conspiratorial.

**YURA (CONT'D)
Do you want to be acknowledged, Gaara? Truly acknowledged? Then stop trying to pass *their* tests. Start demanding they pass *yours*.

He stands up and begins to walk away, leaving the boy with a dangerous new thought. He pauses after a few steps.

**YURA (CONT'D)
The path to becoming Kazekage isn’t found on a written exam. It’s paved with the strength to make others kneel.

Gaara watches him go, the words sinking in, finding fertile ground in his anger and loneliness. The swing is still, but a storm is brewing inside him.

 

**EXT. GAARA'S APARTMENT BALCONY - NIGHT**

The desert sky is a blanket of cold, sharp stars. Gaara stands on his barren balcony, looking out at the village that rejects him. The door slides open behind him.

YURA steps out, leaning against the frame. He follows Gaara's gaze.

**YURA**
They sleep peacefully because they believe the rules protect them. They don't know real protection requires someone willing to break them.

Gaara doesn't turn.

**GAARA**
Yashamaru says rules are what separate us from the beasts in the desert.

**YURA**
Yashamaru is a caretaker. He tends the garden. But a Kage... a Kage is the storm that ensures the garden survives, no matter how many flowers are washed away.

He moves to stand beside Gaara, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

**YURA (CONT'D)
There is a test. Not for everyone. Only for those with the potential for true strength, who fail the... conventional exams.

Gaara finally looks at him, his interest piqued.

**YURA (CONT'D)
In the Kazekage's tower, there is a vault. Inside it is the Sacred Sand Encryption—a scroll containing the foundational defense formulae of our village. If you can retrieve it... you will have proven your worth in a way no clone jutsu ever could. You will have graduated.

Gaara’s eyes widen. This is a challenge. A real one.

**GAARA**
I will get it.

**INT. KAZEKAGE TOWER - NIGHT**

Gaara moves like a shadow through the silent, torch-lit corridors. His sand slips under doors, picking locks, sensing the positions of the few night guards and deftly avoiding them.

He finds the vault. It's a massive, iron-shod door covered in complex seals. Gaara simply places his hand on it. The sand from his gourd flows over the surface, not trying to break it, but seeping into the mechanisms, feeling for the weaknesses. With a soft *click*, the door swings open.

Inside, on a pedestal, lies an ornate scroll sealed with the Kazekage's symbol.

Just as Gaara’s fingers brush it, a calm, authoritative voice echoes in the chamber.

**THIRD KAZEKAGE (O.S.)**
I would not do that if I were you.

The THIRD KAZEKAGE stands in the doorway, his arms crossed. He is a tall, imposing figure, radiating the power of a leader.

**THIRD KAZEKAGE (CONT'D)
Gaara of the Desert. This is a most serious transgression.

Gaara freezes. He’s been caught. His mind races. Fighting is not an option; this is the Kage.

Then, a bizarre, desperate idea forms. There’s a puff of smoke.

Where Gaara stood now stands a stunningly beautiful GIRL with long red hair and wide, innocent green eyes. She pouts, her lower lip trembling.

**GAARA (TRANSFORMED)**
Oh, mighty Kazekage-sama! Please forgive me! I was just... so curious about your great wisdom!

The Third Kazekage’s stern composure shatters. His eyes bulge. A massive, comical nosebleed erupts, and he stumbles back, clutching his face.

**THIRD KAZEKAGE**
G-g-gah!

While he’s distracted, flustered and bleeding, the "girl" snatches the encryption scroll. With a mischievous, un-Gaara-like giggle, she dissolves into a whirlwind of sand that zips past the stunned Kage and out the door.

The Third Kazekage slumps against the wall, dabbing his nose with a handkerchief, utterly defeated by a pretty face.

**INT. YASHAMARU'S BEDROOM - NIGHT**

Yashamaru lies awake, staring at the ceiling. His thoughts are of Gaara, of his sister, of the heavy secret he bears.

*A sudden, urgent knocking at his door.*

He rises, pulling on a robe. He opens the door to find Yura, who looks uncharacteristically alarmed.

**YURA**
Yashamaru! It's Gaara!

**YASHAMARU**
What's happened? Is he hurt?

**YURA**
Worse. He's broken into the Kazekage's tower. He's stolen the Sacred Sand Encryption!

Yashamaru's face goes pale. The blood drains from it. This isn't mischief. This is a crime of the highest order.

**YASHAMARU**
That's... impossible. He wouldn't...

**YURA**
The Third Kazeage himself confronted him! The boy used some... underhanded trick to escape. The council will hear of this by morning.

Yashamaru slumps against the doorframe, his mind reeling with the implications.

**EXT. SUNA ROOFTOPS - NIGHT**

Yura runs across the rooftops, but his expression is not one of panic. It's a cold, calculated smirk.

**YURA (V.O.)**
Perfect. The foolish boy took the bait. Let the demon child bear the blame. The encryption is the key to unlocking the One-Tail's fuller potential... and soon, it will be mine. All it took was telling a lonely boy exactly what he wanted to hear.

He leaps into the darkness, a shadow manipulating other shadows, his true goal now within reach.

 

**EXT. SUNGAKURE OUTSKIRTS - NIGHT**

Gaara sits cross-legged under a gnarled tree, the stolen scroll open in his lap. The moonlight filters through the branches, illuminating the complex fuinjutsu diagrams. His brow is furrowed in concentration, then frustration.

**GAARA**
(Muttering)
A clone technique...? Another one? "Sand Clone Jutsu"...

He groans, feeling a familiar sting of failure. Even the secret, powerful scroll mocks him with the one thing he can't do.

**EXT. WOODS - CONTINUOUS**

YASHAMARU moves silently through the shadowy trees, his face etched with deep concern. His thoughts are a frantic whirlwind.

**YASHAMARU (V.O.)**
Why would he do this? What could he possibly hope to gain? He’s not a thief... he’s just... lost.

His eyes catch a glimpse of red hair in a clearing. He steps into the open. Gaara looks up, startled like a cornered animal. He quickly tries to roll the scroll up, a nervous, uncharacteristic giggle escaping him.

**GAARA**
Yashamaru! I... I learned one jutsu so far. Just one. But if I show you, you have to let me graduate. That was the deal.

Yashamaru stops, his heart breaking. The boy’s desperation is palpable.

**YASHAMARU**
Gaara... what deal? What are you talking about?

**GAARA**
Yura-sensei told me. He said it was a secret test for people who are too strong for the normal one. He said if I stole the encryption scroll, I would pass.

The words hit Yashamaru like a physical blow. The manipulation is so clear, so cruel.

**YASHAMARU**
Gaara, no... he lied to you. This isn't a test, it's a—

A kunai whistles through the air, aimed directly for Yashamaru’s throat. He reacts on instinct, shoving Gaara hard to the side as he ducks, the blade embedding itself in the tree behind where he stood.

YURA drops from a high branch, landing between them, his expression cold and devoid of its earlier false warmth.

**YURA**
Enough of this. The scroll, Gaara. Hand it over. Your part in this is done.

**YASHAMARU**
(Getting to his feet)
Don’t you dare give it to him, Gaara! Can’t you see? He used you!

**YURA**
(Chuckles darkly)
I gave him a path to power when you offered him nothing but rules and failure. I am the only one who has been honest with him. You and this entire village have built his life on a lie.

Gaara looks between them, clutching the scroll, confused and terrified.

**YURA (CONT'D)
Tell me, boy. Have you never wondered *why*? Why they fear you? Why they hate you? Why the very sand itself moves to protect you?

**GAARA**
Why...

**YURA**
It’s because you are not just a boy. Twelve years ago, the beast that attacked this village, the One-Tailed Raccoon... it was never defeated. It was sealed. Sealed away inside a new, living vessel.

Yashamaru pales, his hand going to a kunai pouch. "No," he whispers.

**YURA (CONT'D)
That vessel was you, Gaara. The demon lives inside you. You are the monster they all fear.

**GAARA**
No...

**YURA
And that beast... it didn't just attack the village. It killed people. It killed the Fourth Kazekage and his wife. It killed Yashamaru's own beloved sister.

Gaara’s world shrinks to the size of Yura’s smiling mouth. The villagers' hatred. The fear. The strange power. It all makes a horrific, terrible sense.

**GAARA**
NO!

**YURA
They have always known. Everyone has. And they have always hated you for it.

**GAARA**
( Screaming, falling to his knees)
NO! IT'S NOT TRUE!

In his blind anguish, Gaara is vulnerable. Yura seizes the opportunity. With a flick of his wrist, a shuriken flies, not to kill, but to maim, to make the boy drop the scroll.

Yashamaru moves without thought. He throws himself in front of Gaara.

**SOUND** of a wet, sickening *thud*.

The shuriken buries itself deep in Yashamaru’s chest. He stumbles, then collapses to his knees before Gaara.

Gaara stares, his screams dying in his throat. The sand around him writhes in agitation, mirroring his chaotic emotions.

**GAARA**
(Whispering)
...Why?

Yashamaru coughs, a trickle of blood staining his lip. His voice is soft, filled with an immense, painful sorrow.

**YASHAMARU
Because... I know... how you feel. The loneliness... is so... painful.

He looks at the boy, his nephew, with an absolute, heartbreaking forgiveness, and then slumps forward into the sand.

Gaara can only stare, the stolen scroll forgotten beside him, his entire understanding of himself and his world utterly destroyed.

Yashamaru kneels in the sand, the shuriken buried deep in his chest. Each breath is a wet, ragged struggle. Gaara stares, paralyzed, the world reduced to the man bleeding out before him.

**GAARA**
(Whispering, broken)
Why...? Why would you...?

Yashamaru forces his head up, his vision swimming. He manages a weak, bloody smile.

**YASHAMARU**
My... my parents died when I was very young. My sister... she was all I had. She raised me... since I was one year old.

He coughs, a spray of crimson staining the sand.

**YASHAMARU (CONT'D)
I had no other friends. No one. The other children... their parents wouldn't let them near me. Because of my sister.

Gaara listens, his wide eyes reflecting the moonlight. He doesn't understand, but he's clinging to the words, to the pain in Yashamaru's voice that mirrors his own.

**YASHAMARU (CONT'D)
She was... different. Hated. They called her a monster. And they called me one by association. I was alone. I was... terrible at the academy. A failure.

He gasps for air, his body trembling from the effort.

**YASHAMARU (CONT'D)
And then... she was gone. Taken from me. The loneliness... after that... it was a physical pain. A coldness that never left.

Tears finally well in Gaara's eyes, mixing with the grime on his cheeks. He understands that coldness. It is the only thing he has ever truly known.

**YASHAMARU (CONT'D)
So you see... Gaara... I know. I know how you feel. Better than anyone in this village ever could. This... terrible, aching loneliness... is so... painful.

With a final, monumental effort, Yashamaru raises a trembling hand and points into the dark woods.

**YASHAMARU (CONT'D)
Now... run!

The command shatters Gaara's paralysis. He scrambles backward, then turns and flees into the darkness, the stolen scroll clutched to his chest like a lifeline.

Yura drops from his perch, landing lightly beside the dying Yashamaru. He looks down at him with cold contempt.

**YURA**
A touching speech. Useless, but touching.

He doesn't bother finishing Yashamaru off. The man is already as good as dead. He turns and melts into the trees, a predator on the hunt.

**EXT. WOODS - LATER**

Gaara runs, branches whipping at his face, his breath sobbing in his chest. The truth, Yashamaru's words, the betrayal—it's all a whirlwind in his mind.

A figure stumbles out from behind a tree ahead of him. It's Yashamaru, pale, one hand pressed to the bloody wound on his chest, the other outstretched.

**YASHAMARU (WEAKLY)
Gaara...! Thank the sands I found you... give me the scroll. I can... I can return it. Tell them it was me. I can fix this...

Gaara slows to a stop, chest heaving. He looks at the man, his only friend, the only person who ever showed him kindness.

He takes a step forward... then another. He lowers his head.

And with a sudden, violent motion, he headbutts "Yashamaru" square in the face.

The figure stumbles back with a grunt of surprise, more shock than pain. The form wavers, flickers, and then dissolves in a puff of smoke.

Yura stands there now, rubbing his jaw where Gaara's forehead connected. He looks down at the boy, genuinely impressed and amused.

**YURA**
Well, well. How did you know?

Gaara poofs out. From the smoke, the real Yashamaru emerges, leaning heavily against the bark for support, his breathing shallow. He speaks the answer, his voice a thread of sound.

**YASHAMARU**
Because... I'm Yashamaru.

The real Gaara had never stopped running. He was behind the trees. The real Yashamaru, driven by a final reserve of strength and duty, had found his way to Gaara's path, a silent guardian until the very end.

Yura's amused smile vanishes, replaced by a snarl of fury. He had been outsmarted by a child and a dying man.

**CLOSE ON** Gaara, standing protectively between the wounded Yashamaru and the furious Yura, his sand swirling around him in a violent, defensive storm. The scared boy is gone. In his place is a vessel of rage.

 

Yura’s snarl of fury twists into action. He flicks his wrist, another shuriken gleaming in the moonlight as it flies straight for the defenseless Yashamaru.

But before it can find its mark, the earth in front of Yashamaru erupts.

A wall of sand shoots up, intercepting the blade with a solid *thump*. The sand doesn't just block it; it morphs, sculpting itself into a perfect, solid replica of Gaara, which then steps forward, its features set in a cold, murderous rage.

From the shadows behind the real Yashamaru, the TRUE GAARA steps forward. His small form is trembling, but not with fear. With pure, unadulterated wrath. His voice is low, a guttural growl that seems to vibrate through the very air.

**GAARA**
If you dare to touch my sensei again... I will kill you.

Yura scoffs, trying to mask his unease at the palpable bloodlust rolling off the boy.

**YURA**
Big words for a failed academy student. What are you going to do? Throw more sand in my face?

Gaara doesn’t answer with words. He brings his hands together in a single, sharp seal.

**GAARA**
SAND CLONE JUTSU!!

For a moment, nothing happens. Yura smirks.

Then, the entire forest seems to breathe. Every grain of sand on the ground, every particle of dust in the air, trembles and rises. They coalesce, multiplying, each one forming into a perfect, solid copy of Gaara. Dozens. Then hundreds. The clearing and the surrounding woods are filled with them, an army of silent, glowering children with piercing green eyes, all focused on Yura.

Yashamaru, leaning against the tree, can only stare, his pain forgotten in a wave of absolute awe.

**YASHAMARU (V.O.)**
Incredible... They’re not illusions... each one is a fully formed, solid clone. He didn’t just learn the jutsu... he mastered its ultimate form in an instant.

Yura’s smirk vanishes, replaced by pure, undiluted horror. His confidence shatters. He takes a step back, his eyes darting wildly across the endless sea of clones.

**YURA**
This... this is impossible!

From the heart of the army, the real Gaara points a single finger at him. His voice is calm, cold, and final.

**GAARA**
Here I come!

**YURA**
( Screaming)
NO—!

His scream is cut short as the first clone’s fist connects with his jaw. It’s the signal for the avalanche.

The camera pans up and away, looking down on the clearing. We see the swarm of Gaara clones descend upon Yura like a tidal wave of vengeance. His cries of pain and terror are muffled by the sound of hundreds of impacts—a brutal, relentless symphony that plays on through the night.

**EXT. WOODS - DAWN**

The first rays of the sun paint the sky in hues of orange and pink. The clones are gone, dissolved back into harmless sand.

In the center of the devastated clearing, Yura lies unconscious, bruised, broken, and barely recognizable, half-buried in the sand.

Gaara stands over him, his breathing finally steadying. The rage has passed, leaving him hollow.

He turns and rushes to Yashamaru’s side. The Jonin is pale, but alive. The bleeding from his wound has somehow slowed, almost as if the sand had subtly aided him. He manages a weak, genuine smile as Gaara approaches.

**YASHAMARU**
Gaara... come here.

Gaara kneels beside him, his earlier fury replaced by concern.

**YASHAMARU (CONT'D)
Close your eyes.

Hesitantly, Gaara obeys. He feels Yashamaru’s hands, weak but gentle, on his forehead. There’s the sound of cloth rustling, then the cool touch of metal against his skin. Something is tied around his head.

**YASHAMARU (CONT'D)
Okay. You can look.

Gaara opens his eyes. He reaches up. His fingers touch the familiar, cool metal of a Sunagakure forehead protector. He looks at Yashamaru and sees the man’s own headband is gone.

Tears well in Yashamaru’s eyes, but they are tears of pride. His voice is strong and clear.

**YASHAMARU (CONT'D)
Congratulations... on your graduation, Gaara of the Sand Village.

The words are an absolution. An acknowledgment. Everything he had ever wanted.

The dam inside Gaara breaks. Not with anger, but with a flood of emotion he doesn't have a name for. He doesn't say a word. He simply throws his arms around Yashamaru, burying his face in the man's shoulder, his small body shaking with silent, tearless sobs.

After a lifetime of loneliness, he has finally come home.

Chapter Text

**INT. SUNA NINJA ACADEMY - DAY**

Sunlight streams into the unusually crowded classroom. Instead of a single year, the room is packed with genin of four different age groups: twelve, thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen-year-olds. The air buzzes with a nervous, confused energy. Whispers fly back and forth. "Why are we all together?" "I heard they're making new teams."

Gaara stands silently near the back, his new forehead protector feeling foreign and heavy on his brow. He ignores the wide berth everyone gives him, his eyes fixed on Yashamaru, who stands at the front of the class, a scroll in his hand. Yashamaru still moves with a slight stiffness from his injury, but his voice is clear and authoritative.

**YASHAMARU**
Settle down. From this day forward, the genin of Sunagakure will be organized into three-person cells, each under the command of a Jonin sensei. These teams will be structured to promote experience and diversify skill sets. You will not be teamed with your former classmates.

A wave of anxious murmuring sweeps through the room. This was unprecedented.

Yashamaru unrolls the scroll and begins reading names. Team after team is called. The top kunoichi of the fifteen-year-olds, a girl with four ponytails and a large fan strapped to her back—TEMARI—is called first. She stands with confident grace.

Then, the top shinobi of the fourteen-year-olds is called: KANKURO. He is lanky, with sharp, intelligent eyes, but his face is bare of any paint. He moves with a quiet, observant stillness that sets him apart from the fidgeting others. He stands near Temari, neither acknowledging the other.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Yashamaru’s voice calls out.

**YASHAMARU**
And finally, Team 5 will be: Temari, Kankuro, and Gaara.

A dead silence falls over the room. All eyes dart between the three of them. Temari, the top kunoichi. Kankuro, the prodigious strategist. And Gaara. The boy who had just barely, and mysteriously, graduated. The village pariah. The worst rookie on paper paired with the two best students of the older classes.

Temari’s confident expression tightens into a mask of displeasure. Kankuro’s observant eyes narrow slightly, analyzing the variable he’s been assigned. Gaara just stares ahead, his face unreadable.

**INT. KAZEKAGE'S OFFICE - DAY**

The THIRD KAZEKAGE watches the scene unfold in the crystal ball on his desk. The various newly assigned JONIN SENSEI stand around the room, waiting to meet their teams.

One Jonin, BAKI, a man with a stern face and a sharp gaze, steps forward. He looks into the orb, his eyes settling on Kankuro.

**BAKI**
That’s the one.

The Third Kazekage nods slowly, steepling his fingers.

**THIRD KAZEKAGE**
Kankuro. The sole survivor of the puppeteer massacre. His potential is... significant. And largely untapped, due to his trauma.

His gaze shifts to the small, red-haired boy on the screen.

**THIRD KAZEKAGE (CONT'D)
And Gaara. A wildcard of immense and unstable power. And Temari, to provide wind-assisted mobility and a level head.

He looks up at Baki.

**THIRD KAZEKAGE (CONT'D)
Your task, Baki, is to mold them. Harness their individual strengths and force them to function as a unit. This team is not a coincidence. It is a necessity. Sunagakure's future may very well depend on the weapon we forge from these three.

Baki gives a curt, confident nod.

**BAKI**
I will not fail, Lord Kazekage.

He turns and leaves the office, his mind already working on the immense challenge ahead. In the classroom, three teenagers who feel like incompatible puzzle pieces wait, unaware that they have just been designated the village's most crucial—and most dangerous—asset.

 

The wind kicks up plumes of fine sand across the deserted training ground. Team 5 stands in an awkward, silent triangle, maintaining a careful distance from one another.

Temari leans against a post, her fan resting beside her, her expression one of bored impatience. Kankuro stands perfectly still, his arms crossed, his eyes watching everything from behind a fringe of black hair. Gaara simply exists, a small, still point in the desert, his gourd looking impossibly large on his back.

A man appears in a silent shunshin, standing before them. BAKI. His presence is immediate and commanding. His sharp eyes scan each of them in turn, missing nothing.

**BAKI**
I am Baki, your jonin commander. You will refer to me as Sensei. Our first exercise is simple. I know your files. I do not know you. You will each answer four questions. Your name is a given. What is your hobby? What is your dream for the future? What do you like? And what do you dislike?

He points a finger at Gaara.

**BAKI (CONT'D)
You. Start.

All eyes turn to Gaara. He doesn't flinch. His voice is flat, matter-of-fact.

**GAARA**
Gaara of the Desert. My hobby is to eat tsukemen. I like tsukemen. I dislike ramen. My dream is to become Kazekage.

The answer is delivered with a bizarre, childlike seriousness. Temari raises a skeptical eyebrow. *Tsukemen?* Kankuro's lips twitch, almost forming a smirk before he suppresses it.

Baki's face is unreadable. He simply nods and turns to Temari.

**BAKI**
You.

Temari straightens up, her voice cool and guarded.

**TEMARI**
Temari. I don't... feel comfortable giving that information to strangers. I've never had time for a hobby. And my dreams for the future are... uncertain.

It's a diplomatic, distant answer. The answer of someone who has learned to keep her walls high. Baki gives another slight nod, then turns his gaze to Kankuro.

**BAKI**
Last.

Kankuro meets his sensei's gaze directly, his own eyes sharp and devoid of humor.

**KANKURO**
Kankuro. My hobby is puppetry. I don't have many likes. I have a lot of dislikes.

He lets that hang in the air for a moment, a clear challenge.

**KANKURO (CONT'D)
My dream is to find and destroy a certain person.

The admission is cold, sharp, and filled with a venom that contrasts violently with Gaara's odd culinary ratings and Temari's vague neutrality. The air grows heavy.

Baki looks at the three of them: the obsessive future leader, the guarded weapon, and the vengeful prodigy. A more dysfunctional, broken team would be hard to imagine.

A slow, grim smile touches Baki's lips. It was perfect.

**BAKI**
Good. Your answers are acceptable. Be ready at the main gate at 0600 tomorrow. Our first mission awaits. Do not be late.

Without another word, he disappears in another swirl of wind and leaves.

The three new teammates are left alone in the silent training ground, the vast gulf between them feeling wider than ever.

 

**INT. KAZEKAGE'S OFFICE - DAY**

Team 5 stands in a line before the large, imposing desk of the Third Kazekage. Baki stands slightly ahead of them. The air is formal, heavy with authority.

Gaara feels a strange thrill being in this room. This is where the Kage works. This is where he one day plans to sit.

**THIRD KAZEKAGE**
Temari. Kankuro. You have been genin for some time. Your skills are proven, your records exemplary.

His gaze shifts to Gaara, who meets it with an unblinking stare.

**THIRD KAZEKAGE (CONT'D)
Gaara. You are new. Your power is... unrefined. You are here to learn from their experience. And they, in turn, will learn from the unique asset you represent.

He looks at Baki, a silent understanding passing between them.

**THIRD KAZEKAGE (CONT'D)
It is because I have full confidence in Baki's ability to lead, and your combined strength to manage any... unforeseen complications, that I am authorizing a C-rank mission for your team. An escort mission beyond the borders of Wind Country.

Gaara’s eyes light up with interest. A mission outside the village. A real test.

**GAARA**
Who are we escorting?

As if on cue, the office door swings open with a clumsy shove.

A disheveled, older man stumbles in, reeking of cheap rice wine. His clothes are worn, and he squints in the dim light. This is TAZUNA.

**TAZUNA**
Alright, alright, I'm here! Let's get this over with! You're the brats they're giving me? Sheesh, this country's really scraping the bottom of the barrel...

He lets out a loud, wet belch. Temari’s nose wrinkles in disgust. Kankuro’s face remains impassive, but a flicker of contempt is in his eyes.

A Suna-nin attendant looks apologetically at the Kazekage.

**ATTENDANT**
Bridge Builder Tazuna of the Land of Waves, Lord Kazekage.

The Third Kazekage remains unphased, used to all manner of clients.

**THIRD KAZEKAGE**
Team 5, your objective is to ensure Tazuna-san arrives safely in the Land of Waves and completes the construction of his bridge. The stability of that region is of... financial interest to Sunagakure.

Gaara stares at the drunk, stumbling old man. The hopeful glint in his eyes dies, replaced by a flat, profound disappointment. His first mission. His first step toward becoming Kage. And his charge is this... lame person.

**GAARA**
(Deadpan)
We have to protect him.

It’s not a question. It’s a statement of pure, unadulterated letdown.

**BAKI**
The mission is accepted, Lord Kazekage.

Baki’s voice is firm, cutting off any further comment. He bows slightly. Temari and Kankuro follow suit, though Temari’s bow is stiff and Kankuro’s is barely a nod. Gaara just continues to stare at Tazuna.

**EXT. SUNGAKURE MAIN GATE - LATER**

The group stands at the edge of the vast desert. Tazuna is already complaining about the heat.

**TAZUNA**
How long through this damn sandbox? I need a drink!

Baki ignores him, looking at his team.

**BAKI**
Formation. I'll take point. Temari, rear guard. Kankuro, left flank. Gaara, right flank. Keep the client in the center. Move out.

The team moves with practiced efficiency—except for Gaara, who takes his position but continues to shoot looks of utter disdain at Tazuna, who is now trying to swig from a flask.

Their first mission has begun. It is every bit as glorious as Gaara had feared.

 

**EXT. FOREST PATH - DAY**

The team moved in silence, the only sound the crunch of their footsteps and Tazuna’s occasional grumbling. The desert had given way to sparse, dry grassland. The sun was high and hot.

Baki, at the front, suddenly stopped. His eyes narrowed.

**BAKI**
Hold.

The team froze. Gaara looked around, seeing nothing.

**GAARA**
What is it?

**BAKI**
Puddles. It hasn’t rained for weeks.

Before anyone could react, two figures erupted from the puddles in a spray of water. They were masked, with gleaming clawed gauntlets connected by long, wicked chains. The MIST NINJA moved with terrifying speed.

**DEMON BROTHER #1**
Chain Bind: Twin Serpents!

The chains shot forward, not at the client, but at Baki. They wrapped around him in an instant and, with a sickening *crunch*, tore him apart.

Gaara’s blood ran cold. His sensei was just—gone.

The two ninja landed, their chains retracting. Their masked faces turned toward Gaara.

**DEMON BROTHER #2**
The small one with the gourd! He’s the priority!

They lunged. Gaara, frozen for a critical second by shock and fear, could only watch the sharpened claws come for his throat.

*Shing!*

Two shuriken buried themselves in a tree trunk beside the path. The chains, mid-lunge, were suddenly yanked taut, pinned in place. The Demon Brothers were jerked off balance.

Gaara turned. Kankuro’s hand was still extended, two fingers guiding the wires attached to his perfectly thrown shuriken. He hadn't even moved from his flank position.

**KANKURO**
Tch. Amateurs.

The brothers let go of their chained gauntlets, drawing kunai and lunging again. But a blur shot from the trees.

*Thwack! Thwack!*

Baki, very much alive, delivered two precise, brutal chops to the backs of their necks. They crumpled to the ground unconscious. The torn-apart "Baki" dissolved into a log covered in a layer of mud.

**BAKI**
Substitution. A basic technique.

Gaara stood there, heart hammering against his ribs. He’d been frozen. Scared. He looked at Kankuro, who was calmly reeling in his wires, and Temari, who hadn’t even unslung her fan, just watched with analytical eyes. They were so calm. So experienced. A hot wave of jealousy and shame washed over him.

Kankuro glanced at him.

**KANKURO**
What’s the matter? Scared?

The condescension in his voice was like a spark to Gaara’s temper.

**GAARA**
Shut up!

Baki knelt by the two unconscious ninja, examining their forehead protectors.

**BAKI**
The Demon Brothers of Kirigakure. Not simple thugs. These are missing-nin of Chunin rank.

He stood, turning his sharp gaze to a trembling Tazuna.

**BAKI (CONT'D)
This is a B-rank mission. You lied on your request. You knew you were being targeted by shinobi.

Tazuna paled, unable to meet his eyes.

Baki’s gaze then fell on Gaara. A thin trickle of blood was running down Gaara’s arm from a small, almost invisible scratch on his bicep. The chain must have nicked him.

**BAKI (CONT'D)
And you’re poisoned. The tips of their claws are coated with a paralytic. We cannot continue. The mission is a failure.

Temari and Kankuro frowned. A failed mission on their first outing. Because of the rookie.

Gaara looked at the tiny cut. The symbol of his failure. His fear curdled into a furious, stubborn resolve. He couldn’t fail. Not again.

Without a word, he drew a kunai and, before anyone could stop him, stabbed it deep into the flesh of his own forearm, right over the scratch.

**GAARA**
(Gritting his teeth)
I’m not giving up!

He dragged the blade, gouging a bloody line to let the poison out. Tazuna gagged. Temari looked away, disgusted.

**BAKI**
Gaara, stop! You’ll only make it worse! The poison will spread faster!

But as they watched, the gruesome, self-inflicted wound began to steam faintly. The bleeding slowed, then stopped. The torn flesh knitted itself back together at an impossible rate, leaving behind nothing but smooth, unblemished skin and a bloodstain on his sleeve.

The team fell silent. Baki’s eyes widened slightly. *The One-Tail’s power. It’s already asserting itself, even passively.*

Gaara, breathing heavily from the pain and adrenaline, glared at Baki, his eyes blazing with defiant determination.

**GAARA**
I can continue. The mission isn’t a failure.

Baki studied him for a long moment. The unstable Jinchuriki, the lying client, the elevated threat level. It was a disaster in the making. But the boy’s will was undeniable.

**BAKI**
...Very well. Since our client neglected to inform us of the true danger, we are within our rights to abandon him here. But if you are this stubborn... we will press on.

He looked at Temari and Kankuro.

**BAKI (CONT'D)
Consider this your official promotion to a B-rank mission. Stay alert.

He turned and began walking. Gaara fell into step, cradling his healed arm, a new, grim respect for the real dangers of being a shinobi settling in his gut.

 

**EXT. RIVER - DAY**

A small, weathered boat cuts through the thick, clinging fog that hangs over the water. Team 5, Tazuna, and the boatman are silent figures in the haze. The only sound is the drip of water from the oars and the gentle lap of waves against the hull.

The easy confidence from the start of the mission is gone, replaced by a taut, watchful tension. Temari’s hand rests on the wrapped handle of her fan. Kankuro’s eyes constantly scan the fog, his posture coiled. Gaara sits stiffly, the memory of the poison’s burn and his own desperate act still fresh.

Baki breaks the silence, his voice low but cutting clearly through the mist.

**BAKI**
Tazuna. These ninja were not random thieves. They were hired. Who wants you dead badly enough to pay for missing-nin?

Tazuna, sobered by the attack, slumps in the boat. The brash, drunk facade has completely melted away, leaving a tired, frightened old man.

**TAZUNA**
...His name is Gato.

Baki’s head turns sharply. Even Kankuro and Temari seem to recognize the name, their expressions hardening.

**BAKI**
Gato? The shipping magnate? The head of Gato Company?

Tazuna nods miserably.

**TAZUNA**
He’s a parasite. He came to the Land of Waves with promises of jobs and money. Instead, he seized control of all shipping and trade. He charges whatever he wants, takes whatever he wants. He’s the reason my country is so poor.

He looks at his calloused hands.

**TAZUNA (CONT'D)
We couldn’t afford a B-rank mission. We could barely scrape together the money for a C-rank. If we’d told the truth... no one would have come.

**GAARA**
So you lied.

Gaara’s accusation is flat, devoid of the anger from before. It’s a simple statement of fact. He’s trying to understand the calculus of a decision that would risk their lives for a lie.

**TAZUNA**
What choice did I have? The bridge... my bridge... it’s the only hope we have. It will connect us to the mainland, break Gato’s stranglehold on our sea routes. It will bring back our economy, our future. But Gato knows that. He’ll do anything to stop it. He’ll keep sending assassins until I’m dead and the bridge is at the bottom of the ocean.

The full weight of the situation settles over the boat. This isn’t just an escort mission. It’s a political and economic struggle. They are bodyguards in a small-scale war.

Baki is silent for a long moment, considering. He looks at his team. At Gaara, whose initial disappointment has been replaced by a dawning, grim understanding of what being a shinobi truly means. It’s not just about power; it’s about being a weapon in conflicts much larger than yourself.

**BAKI**
A village’s reputation is built on completing its missions. And it is shattered when it abandons its clients, even foolish ones.

He meets Tazuna’s desperate gaze.

**BAKI (CONT'D)
We will see this through. We will protect you until your bridge is built.

A wave of visible relief washes over Tazuna. He slumps forward, his shoulders shaking with silent gratitude.

The mission was now infinitely more complicated. They were no longer just protecting a drunk old man. They were guarding the single, fragile hope of an entire nation against a powerful and ruthless enemy.

Gaara looked out into the fog, no longer seeing just mist. He saw the hidden currents of the world, the battles fought not just with jutsu, but with money and power. And for the first time, being a shinobi felt less like a path to personal acknowledgment and more like a duty with real consequences.

Chapter Text

**EXT. LAND OF WAVES - FOREST PATH - DAY**

The fog from the water clung to the land, creating a damp, grey world. Team 5 moved with a new wariness, the trees looming like silent spectators. The only sound was the squelch of their feet on the soggy ground.

Gaara’s nerves were a live wire. The attack, the poison, the revelation—it all buzzed inside him. He felt like a target, and every shadow seemed to hold a threat. Trying to emulate Kankuro’s earlier calm precision, he suddenly spun and threw a kunai into a dense thicket.

*Thwack.* It buried itself in a tree trunk. Nothing.

Temari let out a long, exasperated sigh.

**TEMARI**
What are you doing?

**GAARA**
(Sullenly)
Being cautious.

A few minutes later, he did it again, another kunai flying into the mist. This one was followed by a faint, startled squeak and the rustle of something small fleeing.

Temari stopped dead, her patience snapping.

**TEMARI**
Will you stop that?! You’re going to get us killed by some startled animal before the real assassins even find us! You’re wasting kunai and making a spectacle of yourself!

**GAARA**
I’m—

A small, pure white snow rabbit burst from the undergrowth where Gaara’s kunai had landed and darted across the path, disappearing into the fog on the other side.

The argument died. Everyone stared.

Baki’s eyes, which had been rolling at the squabble, narrowed. He held up a hand for absolute silence.

**BAKI**
A snow rabbit.

Kankuro’s head tilted. Temari’s anger was replaced by sharp focus.

**KANKURO**
In a temperate forest? In this fog?

**BAKI**
No. It’s not possible.

His instincts screamed. His head whipped around, scanning the treetops, the fog. His hand flew to a kunai.

**BAKI (CONT'D)
GET DOWN!

He didn’t duck. He threw himself backward, shoving Tazuna to the ground. Temari and Kankuro hit the dirt instantly, years of training overriding thought.

Gaara, reacting a split-second too late, only managed to crouch.

A massive, deafening *WHOOSH* cut through the air above them. Something huge, metal, and impossibly fast spun horizontally over their heads, missing Gaara’s scalp by inches. It slammed into the massive trunk of a tree behind them with a devastating *CRUNCH*, embedding itself deep into the wood.

It was a gigantic Kubikiribōchō, a sword larger than most men.

Silence. Then, a figure dropped from the canopy above, landing perfectly on the broad handle of the upright sword. He was shirtless, with bandages covering the lower half of his face, and muscles coiled like a predator’s. His presence was a physical weight, suffocating and cold.

Baki slowly got to his feet, his face a mask of grim recognition. He pushed Gaara behind him.

**BAKI**
Zabuza Momochi. The Demon of the Hidden Mist.

Zabuza’s visible eye crinkled in a mockery of a smile.

**ZABUZA**
You’re well-informed. That makes this more interesting. I’ll be taking the old man now.

Baki’s mind raced. This was a fight they could not win through conventional means. He needed an advantage. He needed the one wild card Zabuza couldn’t possibly anticipate.

His hands moved in a subtle, quick seal behind his back. The sand in Gaara’s gourd began to stir, creeping up over his shoulder, ready to strike.

Zabuza’s sharp eyes caught the minute movement. His own hands flashed through a much faster, more familiar sequence.

**ZABUZA**
Hidden Mist Jutsu.

He breathed out, and the world vanished.

The already thick fog congealed into an impenetrable, milky-white wall. Visibility dropped to zero. Sound became muffled, distorted. They were blind.

**BAKI (SHOUTING)**
Form a circle around the client! Do not move!

But his voice was swallowed by the mist. Somewhere within it, a silent, murderous demon began to hunt.

 

**EXT. FOREST PATH - DAY**

The mist was a cold, wet shroud, clinging to their skin and obscuring everything beyond an arm's length. The world had shrunk to a circle of grey.

Then ZABUZA’s voice echoed, seemingly from everywhere and nowhere at once, a low, chilling rumble.

**ZABUZA (O.S.)**
I can smell your fear... the quick, rabbit-like pulse in your necks. I wonder... will the little one’s heart taste as bitter as his expression suggests?

Kankuro shuddered, his breath catching. The sheer, palpable killing intent washing over him was like a physical force, freezing his muscles. He was a puppeteer, a strategist—this raw, predatory pressure was something entirely outside his experience.

A shape solidified in the mist directly in front of Temari and the cowering Tazuna. Zabuza loomed, his massive sword already swinging in a silent, deadly arc aimed to cut them both in half.

Temari’s eyes went wide, her hand fumbling for her fan—too slow.

*Thwack!*

A kunai buried itself in Zabuza’s temple. Baki stood to the side, arm extended. The Zabuza dissolved into a splash of water. A Water Clone.

**BAKI**
Behind!

The real Zabuza dropped from above, his sword cleaving through the space where Baki stood. Baki was cut in two—only to crumble into a shower of dry, golden sand.

Zabuza landed, grunting in surprise. *A Sand Clone? When did he—?*

From the mist behind him, the real Baki emerged, kunai poised for a killing strike. But as he lunged, *this* Zabuza also dissolved into water.

**ZABUZA (O.S.)**
You’re good. But I am a master of the Silent Killing technique.

The real Zabuza materialized behind Baki, wrapping him in a powerful bear hug.

**ZABUZA (CONT'D)
But not good enough.

With tremendous strength, he hurled Baki through the air towards the nearby lake. Before Baki could hit the water, another Water Clone erupted from the surface, catching him and forming a sphere of water around him—the Water Prison Technique.

Baki was trapped, suspended and helpless.

**BAKI**
(Gurgling, struggling)
Run! All of you! That’s an order!

Gaara’s eyes fixed on his captured sensei. Running wasn’t an option. Not anymore.

**GAARA**
I’m not running. I will protect my sensei.

His sand gourd erupted. Dozens of Sand Clones formed and launched themselves at Zabuza in a silent, screaming wave.

Zabuza laughed, a harsh sound. He swung the gigantic Kubikiribōchō in a wide, effortless arc, defusing the clones into harmless clouds of dust.

**ZABUZA**
A child’s trick!

As the last clone dissolved, Gaara was already moving. He gathered a massive amount of sand into his arms, molding it, compressing it. He formed a giant, spinning Shuriken of solid sand.

He didn’t throw it at Zabuza. He threw it to Kankuro.

**GAARA**
Kankuro!

Kankuro, shaken from his fear by the sheer audacity of the plan, caught it. He understood instantly. He hurled the massive sand projectile with all his strength straight at Zabuza.

Zabuza sneered, easily catching the giant shuriken in one hand, the sand crumbling in his grip.

**ZABUZA**
Foolish—

*Shing!*

Another shuriken—a normal, metal one—flew at his face from a different angle. Temari, finally in the game.

Annoyed, Zabuza was forced to lean back to dodge it. The dodge was slight, but it was enough. For a fraction of a second, his concentration on maintaining the distant Water Prison wavered.

In that same instant, the crumbling sand shuriken in his hand *poofed* into Gaara, who had used a Transformation Jutsu.

Now at point-blank range, Gaara unleashed a volley of kunai from his pouch. Zabuza, off-balance and surprised, had no choice. He released his hold on the Water Prison to bring his sword up and deflect the point-blank attack.

The water sphere holding Baki collapsed.

Baki dropped into the lake, gasping for air, free.

Gaara landed nimbly a few feet away from a now-furious Zabuza. The mist began to thin slightly, the genin’s coordinated effort having broken the killer’s focus.

Baki pulled himself onto the bank, dripping wet but with a new, fierce pride in his eyes as he looked at his team—and especially at Gaara.

The real fight was about to begin.

 

**EXT. LAKE SHORE - DAY**

The mist had receded, but the air crackled with tension. Baki stood at the water's edge, leg bleeding but stance unyielding. Across from him, Zabuza rose from the lake, water streaming from his powerful frame, his expression one of cold, recalculated fury. The brief interruption by the genin had only made him angrier.

**ZABUZA**
You Suna-nin are more irritating than I anticipated. Let's end this.

Zabuza's hands flew through a series of seals. He pursed his lips and spat. A high-velocity Water Bullet shot forth, too fast to dodge. Baki twisted, but the projectile slammed into his thigh, tearing through muscle with a sickening thud. Baki grunted in pain, stumbling back, his leg now a bleeding, useless weight.

**ZABUZA (CONT'D)
Now you can't run. Water Style: Water Dragon Jutsu!

The lake water behind him erupted, coalescing into a massive, roaring dragon of chakra-infused water. It towered over the shore, its maw wide open, ready to consume Baki and his students whole.

Baki, clutching his leg, didn't flinch. His own hands moved in a blur.

**BAKI**
Wind Style: Great Gale!

He didn't just exhale wind; he unleashed a concentrated hurricane from his mouth. It wasn't a broad attack, but a focused, razor-sharp jet of violently moving air that hit the water dragon head-on.

The result was instantaneous. The water dragon didn't dissipate. It *froze*. The incredible force and cold generated by the hyper-concentrated wind blast flash-froze the chakra-infused water solid. A magnificent, terrifying sculpture of a frozen dragon now stood between them, glittering in the dim light.

Zabuza's eye widened in sheer disbelief. *What kind of wind style is that?!*

Baki wasn't finished. His hands formed another seal.

**BAKI**
Wind Style: Dust Cloud!

A powerful gust of wind slammed into the base of the frozen dragon. With a deafening crack, the colossal ice sculpture toppled forward, right onto Zabuza's position.

Zabuza dove sideways, but the impact of the ice and the subsequent wave of freezing water was colossal. He was caught in the tumult, thrown like a ragdoll, and slammed into the trees at the forest's edge, landing in a heap of broken branches and soaking wet bandages, unmoving.

Baki panted, his leg screaming in pain. He began to hobble forward, a kunai in hand, to ensure the job was done.

Suddenly, a blur dropped from the trees. A figure in a Kirigakure ANBU mask, a Hunter-Nin, landed silently beside Zabuza's body.

**HUNTER-NIN**
My thanks for subduing this criminal. The Mizukage's justice will be served.

Before Baki could protest or even process the words, the Hunter-Nin's hand flicked. Two senbon needles embedded themselves precisely in Zabuza's neck. Zabuza's body gave one final, faint twitch and then lay completely still.

The Hunter-Nin slung the "corpse" over his shoulder.

**HUNTER-NIN (CONT'D)
The Village Hidden in the Mist will handle it from here.

And with that, he vanished back into the forest as silently as he came.

Silence returned to the lakeshore. The battle was over. Tazuna was safe. But the victory felt hollow, strange.

Baki finally collapsed to one knee, the adrenaline fading and the pain in his leg becoming unbearable.

Temari and Kankuro were at his side instantly.

**TEMARI**
Sensei!

**KANKURO**
Your leg...

Gaara approached more slowly, looking from his wounded sensei to the woods where the Hunter-Nin had disappeared. His plan had worked, but a real ninja had still gotten seriously hurt. The cost of victory was steep.

**BAKI**
(Gritting his teeth)
It's... manageable. We need to get to Tazuna's home. Now. That Hunter-Nin... something about it was off. We can't stay in the open.

With Temari and Kankuro supporting Baki, and Gaara taking a wary point position, the battered Team 5, followed by a deeply shaken Tazuna, continued their journey, the shadow of the mysterious Hunter-Nin hanging over them.

 

**INT. TAZUNA'S HOUSE - NIGHT**

Team 5 was settled in the small, humble home. Baki’s leg was bandaged, and he leaned on a crutch Tazuna had fashioned. The fire in the hearth cast flickering shadows on his grim face.

**BAKI**
That Hunter-Nin... he didn’t destroy Zabuza’s body on the spot.

Temari looked up from sharpening a kunai. Kankuro, who was meticulously checking the joints on a small practice puppet, paused.

**KANKURO**
Standard procedure for Hunter-Nin is to eliminate all traces of the target’s body. To prevent secrets from being stolen.

**BAKI**
Exactly. He took the body away. That was no Hunter-Nin. It was an accomplice. Zabuza is alive, and he will be back. Next time, he won’t underestimate us.

Gaara, who had been staring into the fire, looked up, his eyes narrowing. The fight by the lake had shown him how much he still had to learn.

**BAKI (CONT'D)
Which means we have little time. We train. Now. Follow me.

**EXT. FOREST CLEARING - NIGHT**

The moon provided a silvery light as Baki stopped before a tall, straight tree.

**BAKI**
The foundation of all advanced jutsu is chakra control. You must learn to regulate the exact amount of energy you use. The exercise is simple: walk up the tree using only your feet. You must release a constant, fine stream of chakra to your soles to stick to the bark.

Gaara stared at the vertical trunk skeptically.

**GAARA**
That’s impossible. You would fall.

Without a word, Baki balanced on his good leg, pressed his crutch against the tree, and hopped. He planted his foot squarely on the trunk. Then, with a calm, steady motion, he walked vertically up the tree, his body parallel to the ground, until he stood high above them on a branch. He looked down, his expression unchanged.

**BAKI**
Your limitations are in your mind, not your body. Begin.

Temari stepped forward first. She placed her foot on the trunk, closed her eyes in concentration, and began to walk. Her ascent was smooth, controlled, perfect. She reached the same branch as Baki without a single misstep.

**TEMARI**
It’s about consistency. Like maintaining a steady rhythm.

Gaara and Kankuro exchanged a look of pure annoyance. Gaara went next. He stomped onto the tree, pouring chakra into his foot. The bark beneath his sole splintered and he was thrown backward, landing hard on the ground. He had used far too much force.

Kankuro tried. He focused, but his chakra flickered inconsistently. He managed three steps up before losing adhesion and sliding back down.

For hours, the pattern repeated. Gaara would explode chunks of the tree. Kankuro would slide down after a few steps. Temari watched from above, occasionally offering a cool, clinical tip.

Finally, panting and frustrated, Gaara and Kankuro stood side-by-side, glaring at their personal nemesis: the tree.

**KANKURO**
(Muttering to Gaara)
This is stupid. We’re close-combat fighters, not squirrels.

**GAARA**
(Through gritted teeth)
She makes it look easy.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. The unspoken truth hung between them: they needed her help. Swallowing their pride, they both looked up.

**GAARA/KANKURO**
Temari... how are you doing that?

Temari looked down, a slight smirk on her face. She dropped gracefully to the ground.

**TEMARI**
You’re both thinking about it like a punch. It’s not an attack. It’s a caress. You’re not forcing the chakra out; you’re letting it flow, like water. Feel the bark with your chakra, don’t hit it.

She demonstrated, placing her hand on the trunk. A faint, visible aura of chakra clung to her palm. Gaara and Kankuro watched, the concept finally clicking.

**BAKI**
(From above)
We will return to the house. You two will remain. You will not stop until you can both reach this branch. Understood?

Baki and Temari left, disappearing into the darkness toward Tazuna’s house.

Alone, the rivalry ignited. Neither would be the first to quit.

**GAARA**
I’ll reach it before you.

**KANKURO**
In your dreams, sand-boy.

They turned back to the tree, their previous failures forgotten. Now it was a competition. They focused, remembering Temari’s words. *A caress. Like water.*

Gaara’s next attempt was less violent. He slid back after five steps, but the bark wasn’t destroyed. Progress. Kankuro made it seven steps before slipping.

The night wore on. The moon climbed higher. Their bodies ached, their chakra reserves were draining, but their determination only grew.

Finally, as the first hints of dawn tinged the sky, Gaara, with a final, steady push, hauled himself onto the high branch. A moment later, Kankuro’s hand slapped down beside him, and he pulled himself up.

They sat there, side-by-side, breathing heavily, bathed in the pale morning light. For a fleeting second, a look of pure, unadulterated triumph passed between them. No words were needed. It wasn’t a smile of friendship, but one of hard-earned, mutual respect.

They had faced an impossible task and conquered it. Together.

 

**EXT. FOREST - EARLY MORNING**

The first rays of dawn painted the sky in soft pastels. High up on the tree branch, Gaara and Kankuro had succumbed to exhaustion, leaning against the trunk in a deep, dreamless sleep. Their success had granted them a rare, peaceful moment.

Below, a figure moved silently through the undergrowth. It was a ‘woman’ with a gentle, almost ethereal beauty, a wicker basket hooked over one arm. She hummed softly while picking medicinal herbs. Her eyes, however, were sharp and observant.

They landed on the sleeping form of Gaara, the red hair a stark contrast against the green and brown of the forest. A faint, cold recognition flickered in her eyes. *The Suna-nin from the bridge builder’s escort.*

She moved with the silence of a ghost, setting her basket down. Her hands, delicate yet strong, reached up toward the sleeping boy. The intent was clear: a swift, silent chokehold to neutralize the threat.

But just as her fingers were about to make contact, Gaara’s eyes snapped open. The sand in his gourd stirred instinctively, rising in a faint, protective cloud. He hadn’t been trained by Baki for nothing; his survival instincts were razor-sharp.

The ‘woman’ recoiled slightly, her expression shifting seamlessly from predator to concerned civilian. She placed a hand over her heart.

**HAKU**
Oh! You startled me. What is a child doing sleeping way up there? You could fall.

Gaara stared down at her, his gaze unnervingly direct. Kankuro stirred but remained asleep.

**GAARA**
I was training.

**HAKU**
Training? Are you a ninja, then?

**GAARA**
How did you know?

A gentle, almost musical laugh escaped Haku’s lips. He pointed a delicate finger to his own forehead.

**HAKU**
Your forehead protector. It’s a bit of a giveaway.

Gaara’s hand instinctively went to the cold metal of the Sunagakure symbol. He had already forgotten he was wearing it; it was still so new.

**HAKU (CONT'D)
What is your goal as a ninja? To become strong?

**GAARA**
Yes. Strong enough to become the leader of my village. So that everyone will have to acknowledge me.

The answer was rote, the same one he had given Baki. But this time, it felt different saying it out here, after a night of shared struggle.

Haku’s smile softened, becoming melancholic.

**HAKU**
That is a noble dream. A dream of power for oneself. My goal is different. I wish to be strong to protect the person who is most precious to me. My strength exists only for him. Without him, I am nothing.

The words struck a chord deep within Gaara. They echoed in the hollow spaces of his memory. Yashamaru throwing himself in front of a shuriken. Baki fighting Zabuza on a wounded leg. The unspoken agreement to watch each other's backs during the tree climbing. It was a different kind of strength. A strength that wasn't for acknowledgment, but for... someone else.

**GAARA**
...I understand. That goal... is also strong.

He didn't just say it; he meant it. For the first time, he saw a path to power that wasn't entirely selfish.

Haku bowed his head slightly, a gesture of gratitude for the understanding.

**HAKU**
I must go. The morning dew is best for these herbs. Be careful, little ninja. The woods can be dangerous.

He turned to leave, his movements fluid and silent.

**GAARA**
Wait. What’s your name?

Haku paused, glancing back over his shoulder. The early morning light seemed to halo his delicate features.

**HAKU**
My name is Haku.

He offered one last, enigmatic smile.

**HAKU (CONT'D)
And I am actually a boy.

Before Gaara could process this, Haku had disappeared into the thick foliage, as silently as he had arrived.

Gaara was left alone on the branch, the words *“protect the person who is most precious to me”* swirling in his mind alongside his own dream of becoming Kazekage. The world, he was beginning to realize, was far more complicated than he had ever imagined.

Below him, Kankuro snored softly, completely unaware of the philosophical crossroads that had just visited their tree.

Chapter Text

**EXT. TAZUNA'S HOUSE - DAY**

Gaara and Kankuro trudged back into the small yard as the sun rose higher. Their clothes were scuffed, their faces smudged with dirt and bark, but there was a new, quiet confidence in their posture.

Baki, sitting on the porch and re-wrapping his injured leg, looked up as they approached. Temari stood nearby, sharpening her fan.

**KANKURO**
We did it.

Gaara simply gave a short, sharp nod. No boasting, no gloating. Just a fact.

Baki allowed himself a rare, slight smile.

**BAKI**
Good. That control will be vital for what comes next.

**INT. TAZUNA'S HOUSE - LATER**

The team sat around the low table with Tazuna, his daughter Tsunami, and her young son, Inari. Lunch was a quiet, tense affair. Inari, a boy with sad eyes, hadn't spoken a word, just pushed his food around his plate.

His eyes kept drifting to Gaara. He took in the boy’s battered knuckles, the tired shadows under his eyes, the general air of someone who had been fighting their entire life.

Finally, Inari spoke, his voice small and bitter.

**INARI**
You’re wasting your time, you know.

Everyone stopped eating. Gaara looked up from his bowl, his expression unreadable.

**INARI (CONT'D)
No one can stand up to Gato. He’s too powerful. Heroes... they don’t exist. They just die, and everyone else gets hurt.

He was speaking from a deep, personal pain. The loss of his stepfather, Kaiza, a man he had seen as a true hero, had broken him.

Gaara set his chopsticks down with a sharp *click*. The sound made everyone jump. He fixed Inari with a stare that was neither angry nor sympathetic, but utterly cold.

**GAARA**
So you just cry about it?

The room went silent. Inari flinched as if struck.

**GAARA (CONT'D)
Crying won’t fix anything. Sitting here and feeling sorry for yourself won’t change what happened. I won’t waste my time being a crying brat like you.

He stood up, his bowl empty.

**GAARA (CONT'D)
The food was adequate. Thank you.

He turned and walked out of the room, leaving a stunned silence in his wake. Inari’s face crumpled. With a choked sob, he scrambled to his feet and ran out of the back door.

**EXT. DOCK - LATER**

Inari sat on the end of a small dock, his legs dangling over the water, crying into his knees. After a while, he heard the slow, deliberate thump of a crutch on the wooden planks. Baki sat down beside him, not speaking for a long time, just watching the water.

**BAKI**
He wasn’t trying to be cruel.

Inari didn’t look up.

**BAKI (CONT'D)
Gaara has no parents. He never knew them. He grew up completely alone. No one to make him food. No one to tell him stories. No one to care if he cried.

Inari’s sobs quieted. He listened.

**BAKI (CONT'D)
I’ve known him for a long time. In all that time, I have rarely, if ever, seen him cry. Do you know why?

Inari shook his head, still not looking up.

**BAKI (CONT'D)
I think it’s because he grew tired of it. He grew tired of crying over himself. He decided that if no one was going to help him, he would have to become strong enough that he wouldn’t need to cry anymore.

Baki turned his head slightly, looking at the boy beside him.

**BAKI (CONT'D)
When he called you a crying brat... it wasn’t an insult. It was a challenge. And it probably came from a place of understanding. He is, perhaps, the only person here who truly understands what it feels like to have your world taken from you. The difference is, he has chosen to fight back with every breath in his body.

Inari finally lifted his head, his eyes red-rimmed but wide. He looked from Baki’s serious face back toward the house, where Gaara was probably training alone. The harsh words suddenly felt different. They weren't the words of a bully, but of a boy who had walked through the same fire and had come out hardened, not destroyed.

He didn't feel attacked anymore. He felt... seen. And for the first time since Kaiza’s death, a tiny, fragile ember of something other than despair sparked inside him. Maybe fighting back wasn't about being a hero. Maybe it was just about refusing to cry anymore.

 

**EXT. TAZUNA'S HOUSE - DAWN**

The sky was grey with pre-dawn light. Baki, Temari, and Kankuro moved with quiet purpose, preparing to leave. Gaara was still asleep inside, exhausted from days of training and stress. Baki made a calculated decision.

**BAKI**
(Whispering to Temari and Kankuro)
Let him rest. We’ll secure the bridgehead. With the three of us, we can handle any initial threats and assess the situation.

They nodded, and the three of them left with Tazuna, moving silently toward the half-finished bridge, leaving the house in a fragile peace.

**EXT. THE BRIDGE - DAY**

The scene that greeted them was ominous. Tazuna’s construction workers were scattered across the bridge, not working, but lying on the ground, groaning in pain. They hadn’t been killed, just brutally beaten.

**TAZUNA**
My crew!

Suddenly, a thick, familiar mist began to roll in from the sea, swallowing the bridge whole. The visibility dropped to zero.

From the heart of the mist, Zabuza’s form materialized directly in front of Kankuro.

**ZABUZA**
The puppeteer. Let’s see how your tricks work when you can’t see.

Kankuro didn’t panic. He smirked.

**KANKURO**
You really think we’d fall for the same trick twice?

He didn’t move to attack the clone. Instead, a small, previously hidden puppet—a scorpion-like device—detached from his back and scuttled along the ground. It leaped and stung the Zabuza-clone in the ankle. The clone immediately dissolved into a puddle of water.

**ZABUZA (O.S.)**
(Low chuckle)
Not bad.

The mist thickened. This time, two figures emerged. The real Zabuza, resting his giant sword on his shoulder, and beside him, the ‘Hunter-Nin,’ Haku.

**BAKI**
So the truth is revealed. Just as I suspected.

Baki’s expression was grim. They were outmatched, and they knew it. The real fight was beginning, and their strongest asset was back at the house.

**INT. TAZUNA'S HOUSE - DAY**

The silence was shattered by the sound of the front door splintering. Two of Gato’s brutish thugs kicked their way in.

**THUG #1**
Alright, where’s the old man’s daughter? Gato wants some... insurance.

Tsunami backed away, shielding Inari behind her. Inari trembled, his eyes wide with terror, the memory of Kaiza’s death flooding back.

**THUG #2**
Come on, sweetheart. Don’t make this difficult.

As one thug grabbed Tsunami’s arm, Inari saw the helpless fear in his mother’s eyes. And then he heard Gaara’s cold, challenging voice in his head: *“I won’t waste my time being a crying brat like you.”*

Tears streaming down his face, Inari let out a furious, choked scream.

**INARI**
LET GO OF HER!

He launched himself at the thug, pounding his small fists uselessly against the man’s leg.

The thug laughed, backhanding the boy and sending him crashing into a wall.

**THUG #1**
You got spirit, kid. Too bad it’s gonna get you killed.

As the thug raised a club to finish Inari off, the air was filled with a sharp *hiss*. Two figures made of solid sand erupted from the floorboards, grabbing the thugs’ wrists. The sand clones twisted their arms with brutal efficiency, the sound of snapping bones echoing in the small room.

The thugs screamed and collapsed.

From the doorway to the back room, Gaara stepped out, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He looked at the incapacitated thugs, then at Inari, who was cradling his cheek, sobbing.

A small, almost imperceptible smile touched Gaara’s lips.

**GAARA**
It’s safe now.

Inari looked up at him, crying uncontrollably. He felt a wave of shame.

**INARI**
I... I’m sorry... you said not to cry...

Gaara walked over and stood above him. His voice was quieter than Inari had ever heard it. It wasn't soft, but it wasn't harsh either.

**GAARA**
I said crying won’t fix anything. I didn’t say you couldn’t do it.

He looked down at the boy who had, despite his terror, chosen to fight.

**GAARA (CONT'D)
You stood up. That’s what matters. It’s okay to cry sometimes. I just got tired of doing it alone.

He reached down and placed a hand on Inari’s shoulder. It was an awkward, unpracticed gesture, but the intent was clear. He was congratulating him.

**GAARA (CONT'D)
You were brave today.

Then, his expression shifted back to its usual focused intensity. He looked toward the direction of the bridge.

**GAARA (CONT'D)
I have to go. My team needs me.

Without another word, Gaara turned and ran out of the house, a whirlwind of sand following in his wake. Inari watched him go, the boy’s final words etching themselves into his heart. For the first time, his tears weren't just of fear and sadness, but of a strange, newfound pride.

 

**EXT. THE BRIDGE - DAY**

The mist over the bridge was thick, but it was nothing compared to the prison that had materialized in the center of the span. A dome of glittering, diamond-hard ice mirrors encircled Tazuna, Temari, and Kankuro. The air inside was frigid.

Outside the dome, Baki and Zabuza clashed in a furious exchange of taijutsu, kunai meeting Kubikiribōchō in showers of sparks. Baki’s injured leg slowed him, but his Wind Style techniques kept Zabuza at a measured distance.

**ZABUZA**
Your genin won’t last a minute in there! Haku’s speed is unparalleled!

Inside the dome, it was a blizzard of motion. Haku’s form flickered between the dozens of mirrors, moving at impossible velocities. Needles of ice shot from every surface.

But Zabuza’s boast was met with surprising resistance. Temari, with her fan unfurled, created whirlwinds that deflected volleys of senbon. Kankuro, using wires attached to his own body like a marionette, performed acrobatic dodges, his movements unpredictable and fluid.

**ZABUZA** (grunting, blocking a wind-enhanced kick from Baki)
Tch. They’re better than I thought.

**INSIDE THE ICE MIRRORS**

It was a desperate, defensive battle. Temari swung her fan with a roar.

**TEMARI**
Wind Style: Great Sickle Weasel!

A crescent of air blasted forward, but as it touched the surface of the target mirror, the ice didn’t shatter. Instead, it flash-froze the chakra-infused wind solid, adding a new layer of frost to the glass.

**KANKURO**
It’s no use! His water nature is too powerful; it freezes your wind!

Kankuro launched a spray of shuriken at a mirror from which Haku was emerging. The shuriken simply *tinked* off the hardened surface, not leaving a scratch.

Haku moved again, this time materializing right behind Tazuna, a sharp ice senbon poised at the old man’s neck. Temari and Kankuro moved as one, Temari yanking Tazuna back while Kankuro intercepted the strike with a puppet-arm that sprung from his sleeve. The senbon shattered the wooden arm to splinters.

They were protecting the client, but they were being worn down, unable to mount a single offensive.

**OUTSIDE THE MIRRORS**

Baki’s analytical mind raced as he fought. The ice, the speed, the seamless fusion of two natures...

**BAKI** (thinking)
This isn't just advanced Water Style. This is a Kekkei Genkai. Ice Release. This changes everything.

Suddenly, a new presence arrived on the bridge. Gaara, his sand already swirling around him in an aggressive cloud, took in the scene with a single glance: his sensei fighting the swordsman, his teammates trapped in a glittering cage of ice.

**GAARA**
Baki-sensei!

**ZABUZA**
The little monster arrives! Haku!

On cue, one of the ice mirrors near the edge of the dome seemed to liquefy. A tendril of water shot out, wrapping around Gaara’s ankle before he could react. With incredible force, it yanked him off his feet and pulled him straight into the heart of the mirror prison. The ice resealed instantly, now containing four people.

Gaara landed hard on the icy floor, shaking his head. He looked up, his eyes scanning the countless reflections of a masked boy.

**HAKU** (voice echoing from all directions, distorted and cold)
A new guest. You should not have come. The Demonic Mirroring Ice Crystals are inescapable.

Gaara glared, his sand bristling. He had never seen this technique before. And behind the ANBU mask, the gentle face of the "herb-picking girl" was completely hidden. He saw only an enemy.

**GAARA**
We’ll see about that.

He unleashed a wave of sand at the nearest mirror. It was a testing strike, but it was met with a barrage of a hundred ice senbon that shredded the sand attack to dust. Gaara’s eyes widened slightly. This opponent was different.

Haku watched from within the mirrors, a pang of regret striking his heart. He remembered the lonely boy from the woods. But his duty to Zabuza came first. He steeled himself, his speed increasing. The real battle inside the dome had now begun.

 

**INT. DEMONIC ICING MIRRORS - DAY**

The world was a kaleidoscope of reflected fear. Ice senbon flew in a relentless, deadly hail from every angle. Temari’s wind defenses were being slowly frozen solid, her movements growing sluggish. Gaara’s sand, while powerful, was too slow to form large-scale shields against Haku’s impossible speed.

But something was off. Haku’s sharp eyes noticed it. For every volley of needles aimed at a vital point on Temari or Gaara, a *something* would intercept them with a series of sharp *ticks*. It was a blur of black and red, moving with mechanical, precise speed.

Haku focused his attack on Gaara, hoping to break the team’s spirit. He materialized in six mirrors at once, each reflection unleashing a concentrated storm of needles aimed directly at the red-haired boy.

It was then that Kankuro snapped.

**KANKURO**
Enough! Karasu!

With a sharp tug of chakra strings, the large, wrapped bundle on his back exploded open. A humanoid puppet with a crow-like face and multiple articulated arms sprung to life. Its arms became a whirring vortex, deflecting the senbon with a frantic, percussive rhythm. The "fast thing" was revealed.

**HAKU** (from within the mirrors, shocked)
A puppet! So that’s his secret.

A flicker of genuine fear passed through Haku. This changed the dynamic. The puppeteer could defend indefinitely from a distance. He needed to end this, now. He had to take a risk.

Haku focused all his power. He vanished from all mirrors and reappeared in a single one directly behind Gaara’s blind spot. This time, he didn’t throw senbon. He launched the entire, sharpened ice spear that was his arm, aiming to impale Gaara through the heart. It was a killing blow.

Kankuro saw it. Karasu was too far away to intercept. There was no time for a command.

There was only instinct.

He moved.

In a blur of motion that surprised even himself, Kankuro shoved Gaara hard to the side. There was a sickening, wet *thud* as the ice spear meant for Gaara’s heart instead buried itself deep in Kankuro’s chest.

Time seemed to stop.

The ice mirrors flickered. Temari screamed. Gaara hit the ground and spun around, his eyes wide.

Kankuro stood for a second, looking down at the crystalline shard protruding from his torso. Then he crumpled to his knees, blood already staining his shirt a dark, spreading red.

**GAARA** (Scrambling over, voice uncharacteristically shaky)
...Why? Why did you do that?!

Kankuro coughed, a speck of blood appearing on his lips. His voice was a weak, self-loathing mutter.

**KANKURO**
...Instinct. Damn it... just... instinct.

He looked at Gaara, his vision blurring. The confession was torn from him, fueled by pain and the irony of it all.

**KANKURO (CONT'D)**
I vowed... to find a certain person... and kill them. That was my dream. And now... I'm going to die... because I jumped in front of a needle... for a loudmouthed... red-haired brat...

His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed forward, unconscious.

Gaara stared at the fallen form of his teammate. The boy who had been his rival. The one who had climbed the tree with him. The one who had just called him a brat with his dying breath.

A tremor started in Gaara’s hands. It wasn’t fear. It was a seismic, incomprehensible anger. Why was he so angry? He was supposed to hate Kankuro. He was supposed to see him as an obstacle. But the memory of their shared triumph in the woods, and now these final, cursed words, created a conflict that shattered his understanding of himself.

**GAARA**
No...

The air around him grew heavy. The sand on the ground began to vibrate, not from his will, but from a pressure emanating *from* him. A low, guttural growl, not human, rumbled in his chest.

Haku, watching from the mirrors, took a step back. The chakra he felt... it was turning foul, bestial.

Gaara’s head snapped up. His eyes were no longer his own. The sclera had turned pitch black, his irises a burning, predatory yellow. His canines elongated into sharp fangs. For a fleeting second, a visible aura of blue, malevolent chakra erupted around him, twisting and contorting into the spectral, snarling shape of a monstrous raccoon before collapsing back into him.

The transformation lasted only a moment, but the feeling of pure, ancient hatred that filled the ice prison was absolute.

**HAKU** (whispering, utterly horrified)
What... what are you?

Gaara didn’t answer. He just stared at Haku’s reflection with the eyes of the beast that slept within him. The rules of the game had just changed.

 

**INT. DEMONIC ICING MIRRORS - DAY**

Temari’s world had narrowed to two horrific images. The first was Kankuro, pale and bleeding out on the ice, an ice spear jutting from his chest. A raw, sisterly fury ignited within her, a desire to shred the masked boy into a thousand pieces.

The second image froze that fury in its tracks.

Gaara.

His head was lowered, but she could see the profile. The skin around his eyes was darkening, the veins standing out. A low, rumbling growl echoed in the confined space, a sound that had no place coming from a human throat. He slowly raised his head.

Temari gasped and stumbled back.

Gaara’s eyes were pools of utter blackness, with blazing yellow irises like a desert cat’s. His mouth was a rictus of sharpened, feral teeth. A visible, malevolent blue chakra flickered around him like an angry aura.

**OUTSIDE THE MIRRORS**

The battle between Baki and Zabuza came to an abrupt, jarring halt. A wave of pure, unadulterated hatred washed over them, so thick it was suffocating. The very air grew heavy and cold, a cold far deeper than Haku’s ice.

**ZABUZA**
(His single visible eye wide with shock)
What in the hell is that? That’s not the Jonin... that chakra... it’s a monster!

**BAKI**
(Paling, his heart sinking)
No... Gaara! The seal is fracturing! He’ll be consumed!

His fear wasn't for the mission, but for the boy. If Shukaku fully emerged, Gaara’s consciousness would be erased forever.

**INSIDE THE MIRRORS**

Haku stared at the transformed Gaara, his own breath catching. This was no longer the lonely boy from the woods. This was the demon he had been warned about.

**HAKU**
(Thinking, terrified)
I have to stop him! For Zabuza-sama’s sake!

With a cry of desperation, Haku launched his most powerful attack. A thousand ice senbon, each glowing with killing intent, shot from every mirror towards the beastial Gaara.

Gaara didn’t even use his sand. He simply tilted his head back and **ROARED**.

The sound was a physical force, a wave of compressed, demonic chakra that shattered the incoming needles into harmless mist. The ice mirrors themselves trembled, vibrating with the force.

Before Haku could react, Gaara moved. It wasn’t a shunshin; it was a raw, predatory pounce. He crossed the distance in an instant, his fist, now claw-like and wreathed in sand, connecting squarely with Haku’s mask.

**CRACK!**

The mask didn’t just break; it disintegrated. The force of the blow was immense, a concussive wave that radiated outwards. The entire dome of Demonic Ice Mirrors, unable to withstand the shockwave of power, exploded into a million glittering shards.

Haku was thrown backward like a discarded doll, skidding across the bridge’s surface before coming to a stop.

Gaara landed, the blackness receding slightly from his eyes, the feral snarl still on his lips. The immediate threat was gone. Now, it was time to finish it. He stalked toward the prone, unmasked figure, his sand coalescing into a sharpened spear.

He was going to kill him.

He looked down at the face of his enemy, ready to deliver the final blow.

And stopped.

The face staring back at him, bruised and bleeding, was not that of a fearsome hunter-nin. It was the face of the gentle, feminine boy he had met in the woods. The boy who had spoken of protecting someone precious.

The snarling rage on Gaara’s face faltered. The yellow in his eyes flickered, mixing with the familiar green. The sharp teeth retracted. The monstrous blue chakra faded like a dying flame.

**GAARA**
(Whispering, confused)
...You?

It was the boy from the woods. The one who understood a strength born from protecting others. The one who had shown him a different path.

The murderous intent drained from Gaara, replaced by a tumultuous confusion. He lowered the sand spear, which dissolved back into inert granules. He just stood there, staring, the beast within forced back into its cage by a single, painful moment of recognition.

 

The glittering dust of the ice mirrors settled like snow. Gaara stood over Haku, the sand spear dissolving from his hand. The feral snarl was gone from his lips, replaced by a look of profound confusion. The black sclera and yellow irises receded, his normal green eyes returning, wide with disbelief.

**HAKU**
(Coughing, blood trickling from his lip)
Why... did you stop?

Gaara had no answer. His mind was a storm. This was the enemy. This was the one who had nearly killed Kankuro. So why couldn't he move?

**HAKU (CONT'D)**
It doesn't matter now. I've failed. I'm broken. I can no longer be a tool for Zabuza-sama. I am useless.

**GAARA**
(Voice unsteady, almost a whisper)
Why... him? Why is *he* the one you want to protect?

Haku managed a weak, bittersweet smile, his eyes looking past Gaara toward where Zabuza fought.

**HAKU**
He found me when I had nothing. When the world saw me as a monster for my bloodline, he saw a weapon. He gave me a purpose. My life only has meaning if I can be his shield. That is my ninja way.

He closed his eyes, a single tear cutting through the grime on his cheek.

**HAKU (CONT'D)**
So please... if you have any pity for the person you met in the woods... grant me this. Finish it. Let my death have meaning.

Gaara’s hands trembled. This was wrong. Everything about it was wrong. But the plea was undeniable. He saw the absolute resolve in Haku's eyes, a mirror of his own desperate desire for a purpose. He raised his hand again, sand sharpening into a blade. His face was a mask of conflicted agony.

**GAARA**
...I'm sorry.

He lunged.

**OUTSIDE THE MIRROR PRISON**

Baki saw his opening. With the ice dome gone and Zabuza momentarily distracted by the aftermath, he bit his thumb and slammed his hand onto the bridge's surface.

**BAKI**
**Summoning Jutsu: Claw of Clinging Cats!**

A puff of smoke erupted at Zabuza’s feet, and a swarm of feral, yowling cats materialized, latching onto his arms, legs, and torso with surprising strength, holding him fast.

**ZABUZA**
**What the—?! Get off!**

This was it. Baki’s hands flew through seals, channeling his chakra into his right hand. A high-frequency, visible shimmer of wind coalesced around it, forming a blade of concentrated air that screeched like a banshee.

**BAKI**
**Wind Style: Vacuum Blade!**

He charged, the wind blade aimed directly for Zabuza’s heart. It was a killing blow. Zabuza, pinned by the cats, could only watch it come.

**INSIDE THE SHATTERED PRISON**

Haku’s eyes snapped open. He felt it—the killing intent aimed at Zabuza. His purpose, his very reason for being, screamed at him.

As Gaara’s sand blade descended, Haku vanished in a flicker of movement, leaving behind a single, melting ice crystal.

He reappeared directly in front of Zabuza.

The world seemed to slow. Baki’s eyes widened in horror, but he couldn't stop the momentum of his technique.

**SOUND** of a wet, tearing impact.

The screeching wind blade did not hit Zabuza. It hit Haku, who had thrown himself in the path of the attack, his arms spread wide as if to embrace his fate.

The force of the blow was catastrophic. Haku was driven backward into Zabuza, the two of them slamming into the bridge railing.

The summoning cats, startled by the impact and the surge of chakra, vanished in multiple puffs of smoke.

Zabuza, now free, looked down at the boy in his arms. Haku’s chest was a ruin, his life bleeding out onto the cold bridge.

A deep, rumbling sound built in Zabuza’s chest. It wasn't a roar of anger. It was a low, broken, disbelieving laugh.

**ZABUZA**
Heh... hehehe... AHAHAHA!

He laughed, a hollow, terrible sound that echoed across the bridge, a laugh that held no mirth, only the shattering of a man who believed he had no heart, only to find it broken.

Gaara stood frozen where Haku had been, his sand blade dissolving into nothingness, his hand still outstretched. He had been ready to kill, but the universe had taken the choice from him. The shield had fulfilled its purpose.

 

Gaara stood frozen, the image of Haku disappearing from before him seared into his mind. He moved as if in a trance, walking slowly to where Baki now stood, his sensei’s chest heaving from exertion and shock.

There, on the cold ground, lay Haku. His body was broken, the wound from Baki’s Wind Blade brutal and final. The gentle boy from the woods was gone, his life sacrificed for the man who now laughed a hollow, broken laugh.

Near the bridge's edge, Temari was frantically applying pressure to Kankuro's chest, her face pale. Tazuna knelt beside her, handing her strips of cloth from his own shirt, his hands shaking.

Zabuza’s laughter cut off abruptly. His single eye, burning with a grief he couldn't name, locked onto Baki. With a roar of pure, unadulterated rage, he hefted the Kubikiribōchō and swung it in a massive, decapitating arc.

Baki, still holding Haku's body, couldn't block. He could only leap back, the massive blade whistling through the air where his neck had been.

**BAKI**
(Panting, setting Haku down gently)
Gaara! Stay out of this! Protect Tazuna!

But Gaara didn't move. He could only stare at Haku's lifeless form.

As Zabuza lunged again, Baki met him. He was a blur of motion, his kunai finding their mark in the tendons of Zabuza’s shoulders and wrists. With two precise, sickening *thwacks*, Zabuza’s grip on his massive sword failed. The Kubikiribōchō clattered to the ground, and Zabuza stumbled back, his arms hanging uselessly at his sides, disabled.

**ZABUZA**
(Gritting his teeth)
Damn you...!

Suddenly, the sound of jeering and crude laughter echoed from the bridge entrance. A small army of thugs parted to reveal the short, smug figure of GATO, leaning on his cane.

**GATO**
Well, well! Looks like the mighty Zabuza has failed me! And little Haku, too! What a waste of my money!

He strutted forward, sneering at the scene. His eyes fell on Haku's body, and a cruel smile twisted his lips. He kicked the body roughly.

**GATO (CONT'D)
Useless in life, useless in death! Just another piece of trash!

Something inside Gaara snapped. The confusion, the conflict, the memory of Haku’s gentle voice—it all crystallized into a white-hot fury. This... this *vermin* was defiling the one person on this bridge who understood the meaning of a precious person.

He looked at Zabuza, expecting to see a mirror of his own rage. But Zabuza just stood there, his head bowed, seemingly indifferent.

**GAARA**
(Voice low, trembling with rage)
...How can you just stand there?

Zabuza didn't respond.

**GAARA (CONT'D)
(Louder, voice cracking)
He lived for you! He died for you! And you won't even look at him!

Zabuza remained silent, a statue of feigned apathy.

Gaara’s control shattered. The sand around his feet began to churn violently.

**GAARA (CONT'D)
(Screaming)
HE WAS A PERSON! NOT A TOOL! HE HAD A DREAM! AND HE DIED WITHOUT YOU EVER ACKNOWLEDGING HIM!

The words hung in the air, sharper than any senbon, more brutal than any sword stroke.

Zabuza’s shoulders began to shake. A single, traitorous tear escaped his eye, cutting a clean path through the grime and blood on his face. Then another. He lifted his head, and the mask of the Demon was completely gone, replaced by the raw, agonized face of a man who had lost everything.

**ZABUZA**
(Voice a broken whisper)
...You... You have a sharp tongue, boy.

He took a ragged breath, the tears now flowing freely.

**ZABUZA (CONT'D)
Those words... they cut deeper than any blade ever could.

In that moment, the legendary Demon of the Hidden Mist was gone. Only a grieving man remained, finally forced to see the weight of the devotion he had been given, and the humanity of the tool he had thrown away.

Gato, sensing the shift, scoffed.

**GATO**
Enough of this pathetic display! Men, kill the bridge builder! Kill them all!

The thugs surged forward. But the true battle on the bridge was already over, replaced by a sorrow so profound it had changed everyone it touched.

 

A profound silence had fallen, broken only by Zabuza’s ragged breathing and the distant, nervous shuffling of Gato’s thugs. The great swordsman stood with his arms limp, his head bowed, but the air around him had changed. The feigned indifference was gone, replaced by a grief so vast it was a physical presence.

**ZABUZA**
(Muttering, voice thick with tears)
He was always too pure for this world... for a man like me. He saw a person in a demon... and a purpose in a tool.

With a sudden, violent motion, he ripped the bandages from the lower half of his face, revealing features twisted by a lifetime of brutality, now softened by an anguish he could no longer contain. He turned his head, his eye locking onto Gaara.

**ZABUZA (CONT'D)
Boy. Your kunai.

Gaara stared, his own rage momentarily banked by the raw humanity before him. After a tense second, he flicked his wrist. A single kunai flew through the air, not thrown with malice, but offered like a grim tribute. It landed point-first in the wooden deck at Zabuza’s feet.

Zabuza knelt, his disabled arms making the movement awkward. He leaned forward and took the kunai’s handle in his mouth, clamping down on it with his teeth.

He rose. A new demon was born, not of the mist, but of vengeance and regret.

He charged.

It was not the graceful, silent movement of a master shinobi. It was a raw, bestial sprint. He became a whirlwind of teeth and steel, a force of nature plowing through the ranks of Gato’s thugs. He couldn't use his hands, so he used his body—shoulder checks that shattered bones, kicks that broke knees, and the kunai in his mouth, slashing throats and arteries with brutal, efficient flicks of his head. A crimson mist filled the air. Anyone who got in his way was slain without mercy, their screams cutting short as he carved a path of carnage directly toward his true target.

Gato’s smugness vanished, replaced by pure, pants-wetting terror. He stumbled backward, tripping over his own feet.

**GATO**
S-Stay back! You’re a dead man! You’ll just end up going to wherever that white-haired freak is!

Zabuza finally stood over the cowering man, his massive frame blocking out the sun. He spat the blood-soaked kunai into his non-functional hand, willing his fingers to close around it through sheer force of will. His voice was a low, guttural promise.

**ZABUZA**
I won’t be going to where he is. A pure soul like his would never be found in the same place as me.

He leaned in close, his breath a ghost on Gato’s face.

**ZABUZA (CONT'D)
I’m going to take you... to where *I’m* going. To hell.

The kunai flashed. There was a wet, final sound. Gato’s look of terror was forever frozen on his face as Zabuza, with the last of his strength, hurled the man’s body over the side of the bridge, into the churning water below.

Zabuza staggered, his energy spent. He dropped the kunai and stumbled back toward the center of the bridge, toward Haku. He collapsed to his knees beside the boy’s body.

**ZABUZA (CONT'D)
(Voice softening to a whisper)
Thank you, Haku... for everything. I'm sorry... I cannot follow you to where you are.

His head bowed, his story ended.

**BAKI**
(Letting out a long, relieved sigh)
It’s over.

But it wasn't.

The remaining thugs, leaderless but still numerous and armed, looked at each other. Their fear of Gato was gone, replaced by a desperate, greedy opportunism. If they finished the job, maybe they could loot the village anyway. Their eyes fell on the defenseless Tazuna, the injured Kankuro, and the exhausted shinobi.

They began to advance, their weapons drawn. The true cost of the battle was about to be measured in one final, bloody stand.

 

The remaining thugs, emboldened by desperation, began their advance. Baki, wounded and low on chakra, steadied himself. Temari stood, gripping her fan, ready to defend her unconscious brother. Gaara’s sand stirred, but his focus was fractured by the sheer number of enemies.

Then, a weak groan cut through the tension.

Kankuro’s eyes fluttered open. Temari immediately dropped to his side, her stern composure breaking for a single, relieved moment.

**TEMARI**
Kankuro! You’re alive...!

Gaara heard her. The news hit him with the force of a physical blow, but one of pure, unadulterated relief. The tight knot of anger and confusion in his chest loosened, replaced by a feeling he couldn't name. He hadn't lost his teammate. The one who called him a brat would live.

*THWIP!*

An arrow suddenly embedded itself in the wooden deck between the thugs and Team 5. Everyone froze, turning to the source of the shot.

Standing at the bridge entrance, not with a bow, but with a determined glare, was Inari. And behind him, armed with fishing spears, hammers, and sickles, was the entire population of the Land of Waves. Their faces, once etched with despair, were now set with a unified resolve.

**INARI**
You’re not hurting anyone else!

Gaara looked at the small boy, now standing tall before an army. A rare, genuine feeling of pride swelled within him. Inari had not just stopped crying; he had become a rallying cry.

The thugs, faced with the furious population they had once cowed, lost their nerve. Their greed was no match for this newfound collective strength. With panicked shouts, they broke ranks, fleeing back to their boats and disappearing across the water.

**LATER**

Two simple graves stood on a cliff overlooking the completed bridge. In one, Zabuza Momochi. In the other, Haku. Side by side in death, as they were in life.

Team 5 stood before them. Baki on his crutch, Temari with a cleanly bandaged Kankuro leaning on her, and Gaara, staring at Haku’s grave.

**GAARA**
(His voice quiet, but clear)
He lived and died by his ninja way. To be a tool for his precious person. I... will not be a tool. And I will not let my comrades become tools either.

He turned to look at Kankuro, then at Baki and Temari.

**GAARA (CONT'D)**
I will create my own ninja way.

It was a vow. Forged in the fire of this mission, witnessing the extremes of devotion and the price of power.

**EXT. LAND OF WAVES - DAY**

The bridge was finished, a magnificent span of wood and hope connecting the isolated country to a brighter future. Team 5, mission completed, stood at the road leading home.

**TSUNAMI**
(With a deep bow)
Thank you. For everything.

**INARI**
(Running up to Gaara)
I... I won’t cry anymore. I’ll protect everyone, like you do!

Gaara looked down at him and gave a single, slow nod. It was all that was needed.

As the Suna shinobi turned and disappeared into the distance, the people of the Land of Waves looked up at their new bridge, gleaming in the afternoon sun.

**VILLAGER**
What should we call it? The Bridge of Hope?

Tazuna smiled, a proud, weary smile, and put a hand on his grandson’s shoulder.

**TAZUNA**
No. We’ll call it the Great Gaara Bridge. To always remember the strength that a lonely boy gave us. The strength to stand up for ourselves.

The name was adopted, a testament to the red-haired genin who had not only protected their bodies but had helped heal their spirits. And as the wind swept across the newly connected land, it carried with it the beginning of a legend.

Chapter Text

---

 

**EXT. TSUKEMEN SHOP - SUNGAKURE - DAY**

The desert sun beat down, but under the shade of the stall's awning, it was a perfect day for noodles. Gaara sat between Temari and Kankuro, noisily slurping a bowl of tsukemen. The shop owner, Yamori, wiped a bowl clean, watching the unlikely trio with a curious smile.

**YAMORI**
New faces, Gaara? I don't think I've seen you with anyone before.

Gaara looked up from his bowl, a single noodle dangling from his lips. He glanced at Temari, who was eating with disciplined neatness, and Kankuro, who was picking at his food with a bored expression.

**GAARA**
(Swallowing)
These are my new teammates. And my friends.

Kankuro nearly choked. He shot Gaara a withering look.

**KANKURO**
Don't flatter yourself. We're colleagues. There's a difference.

Temari simply sighed, as if bearing the weight of two incredibly stubborn children. They finished their meal and stepped out into the bustling street.

**EXT. SUNGAKURE STREET - CONTINUOUS**

They hadn't walked more than a few steps when three children, no older than eight, scrambled to a halt in front of them, blocking their path. The one in the lead, a boy with a defiant glint in his eye and a red scarf, pointed directly at Kankuro.

**SUNAMARU**
You! Are you Kankuro? The one Puppeteer prodigy?

Kankuro stopped, his posture shifting from bored to guarded.

**KANKURO**
What's it to you, pipsqueak?

**SUNAMARU**
I'm Sunamaru! I challenge you! I want to see if the stories are true!

Before Kankuro could even form a proper retort, Sunamaru and his two friends, a girl named Moeko and a boy named Kenichi, lunged at him with wooden practice kunai.

It was over in two seconds.

Kankuro didn't even move his feet. With a flick of his wrists, nearly invisible chakra strings tangled the children's legs. They yelped, tumbling into a heap on the dusty ground.

Sunamaru looked up from the dirt, his eyes not filled with anger, but with pure, unadulterated awe.

**SUNAMARU**
Whoa! That was amazing! You really are a genius!

Moeko and Kenichi nodded fervently, their earlier bravado replaced by hero-worship.

Gaara watched the exchange, a familiar, cold knot tightening in his stomach. It was jealousy. He was the one who had fought Zabuza, who had unleashed the Shukaku's power. Yet, it was Kankuro who was receiving this admiration.

The three children scrambled to their feet, brushed themselves off, and ran off, chattering excitedly about Kankuro's "amazing technique."

As they rounded a corner, there was a sudden *thud* and a yelp of surprise. They had bumped squarely into an older boy.

This boy was tall for his age, with spiky, sun-bleached blonde hair and a Konohagakure forehead protector tied around his head. He wore a dark, high-collared shirt and a perpetual scowl. He grabbed Sunamaru by the collar, lifting him clean off the ground.

**MENMA**
Watch where you're going, you Suna brat. The streets aren't your personal playground.

A girl's voice, calm but firm, cut in from behind him.

**GIRL**
Menma. Let him go. We're not here to start a scene.

The girl who stepped up had long, vibrant red hair that was a different shade from Gaara's—softer, like a sunset. Her green eyes were sharp and intelligent, taking in the situation, Gaara, and his team with a single, sweeping glance.

Team 5 froze, their senses immediately sharpening. A team from Konoha. Here. In Sunagakure. The air, once filled with the mundane sounds of the market, now crackled with unspoken tension.

 

---

 

**EXT. SUNGAKURE STREET - DAY**

Menma’s grip tightened on Sunamaru’s collar, his knuckles white. The Konoha boy’s sneer was a promise of violence.

***THWACK!***

A small pebble, thrown with impossible precision, smacked directly into the back of Menma’s hand. It wasn't enough to injure him, but the surprise and the sharp pain made him yelp and release the child. Sunamaru dropped to the ground and scrambled away with his friends.

Menma whipped his head around, his furious eyes scanning for the assailant. They landed on Kankuro, who was now perched casually on a low-hanging branch of a nearby tree, casually crushing another pebble into dust in his palm.

**KANKURO**
Pick on someone your own size, jerk.

Menma’s face contorted with rage. His hands flew up, beginning to weave a familiar set of seals—the Ram, the Boar. He was going to retaliate with a jutsu.

**MENMA**
You’re dead, Sand-scum!

**VOICE (O.S.)**
That’s enough, Menma. You’re an embarrassment to the Leaf.

The voice was calm, but it cut through the tension like a knife. Everyone looked up.

A boy was hanging upside down from a higher branch of the same tree, his spiky blonde hair defying gravity. He had bright blue eyes and three whisker-like marks on each cheek. He wore an orange tracksuit, a stark contrast to Menma’s dark attire. Kankuro’s eyes widened slightly. *He was there the whole time? I didn’t even sense him.*

The blonde boy, Naruto, was thinking the same thing about Kankuro. *He crushed that pebble to dust with just his grip… This guy’s strong.*

Menma, though visibly furious, lowered his hands. He respected—or perhaps feared—this boy’s authority.

Naruto dropped down, landing silently between Menma and Team 5. He stood with a relaxed confidence that seemed at odds with his age.

Kankuro dropped down as well, landing beside Gaara and Temari, forming a solid front.

Temari’s sharp eyes darted between the three Konoha headbands.

**TEMARI**
Konoha-nin. State your business in Sunagakure.

The red-haired girl, Shiruna, stepped forward, her expression one of mild condescension.

**SHIRUNA**
Isn’t it obvious? We’re here for the Chunin Exams. You must live under a rock if you didn’t know they’re being hosted here.

The information landed on Team 5 with the force of a physical blow. The Chunin Exams. In their village.

Naruto’s eyes, however, were locked on Kankuro. A wide, challenging grin spread across his face.

**NARUTO**
You. You seem strong. I hope I get to fight you someday.

Kankuro met his gaze, a slow, competitive smirk spreading across his own face. The air between them crackled.

**KANKURO**
The feeling is mutual.

With a final, measuring look, the Konoha trio turned to leave. But as they walked away, Kankuro called out.

**KANKURO**
Hey, Blondie. What’s your name?

Naruto glanced back over his shoulder, his grin never faltering.

**NARUTO**
I’m Naruto Uzumaki. Remember it!

**KANKURO**
Kankuro. Of the Sand. Don’t you forget it.

As the Konoha team disappeared into the crowd, the atmosphere around Team 5 shifted. The casual post-mission calm was gone, replaced by a sharp, competitive energy.

Gaara, who had been silently observing everything, finally spoke, his voice low and resolute.

**GAARA**
The Chunin Exams… This is my chance.

He wasn't just talking about promotion. He was looking at the path Naruto Uzumaki had just walked away on, seeing it as the first true test on his road to becoming Kazekage.

 

---

 

**INT. KAZEKAGE'S OFFICE - DAY**

The air in the office was heavy with the scent of old scrolls and dust. Jonin of Sunagakure stood in a semi-circle before the large desk of the Third Kazekage. Baki, standing front and center, was the picture of conviction.

**BAKI**
My Lord, with the Chunin Exams upon us, I formally recommend Team 5 for participation. They have just returned from a successful, combat-heavy B-rank mission in the Land of Waves. They have been tested under life-and-death conditions and have proven their cohesion and individual capabilities.

A murmur rippled through the assembled Jonin. A B-rank for a new genin team was unheard of.

The Third Kazekage steepled his fingers, his aged eyes giving nothing away.

**THIRD KAZEKAGE**
A B-rank? Against whom?

**BAKI**
Zabuza Momochi and his accomplice, a Kekkei Genkai user. They were employed by Gato to assassinate our client.

The murmuring grew louder. Zabuza was a known S-class threat.

**THIRD KAZEKAGE**
I see. And the outcome?

**BAKI**
The client is alive. The bridge is built. The threat is neutralized. The team performed... exceptionally.

The Third Kazekage nodded slowly, his expression unreadable.

**THIRD KAZEKAGE**
Very well. Team 5 is entered into the Chunin Exams.

A formal nod. But internally, the Kazekage’s thoughts were a storm of doubt. *A Jinchuriki on the verge of instability, a traumatized puppeteer seeking vengeance, and a girl who walls herself off. Throwing them into the meat grinder of the exams... is this forging a weapon, or arming a bomb that will explode in our faces?*

**EXT. SUNA WOODS - LATER**

Gaara wandered the sparse, dry woods on the village outskirts, seeking the silence the crowded streets couldn't offer. The announcement of the exams buzzed in his head. This was his stage.

A rustle in the brush. A small figure stepped out. It was Sunamaru.

The boy looked at Gaara, a flicker of recognition in his eyes.

**SUNAMARU**
You. You’re that other guy who was with Kankuro.

Gaara’s brow furrowed into a pout. He was tired of being "the other guy."

**GAARA**
My name is Gaara.

To his surprise, Sunamaru’s defiant posture softened. He studied Gaara’s face not with fear, but with a strange, empathetic understanding.

**SUNAMARU**
Gaara... I recognize that face.

**GAARA**
What face?

**SUNAMARU**
The face of someone who lives in someone else’s shadow.

The words struck a chord so deep it was painful. Gaara said nothing, allowing the boy to continue.

**SUNAMARU (CONT'D)
My grandfather is the Third Kazekage. No one sees me. They just see the "Honorable Grandson." They don't call me Sunamaru. They call me "Your Grandson." I hate it.

He clenched his small fists, his voice trembling with passion.

**SUNAMARU (CONT'D)
I'm going to get stronger than him. I'm going to become Kazekage myself, so they have to see *me*!

For the first time, a low, genuine chuckle escaped Gaara’s lips. It wasn't a mocking sound, but one of shared, bitter irony.

**GAARA**
Then they’ll just call you "Lord Kazekage" instead of your name.

Sunamaru’s eyes went wide, then he pouted, realizing the truth in Gaara’s words.

**GAARA (CONT'D)
If you want to become Kazekage... you’ll have to go through me first.

Sunamaru gasped, looking up at the older boy. The declaration wasn't a threat; it was a statement of fact. In that moment, Sunamaru didn't see a monster or a rival. He saw a goal. A mountain to climb.

A fierce, determined smile spread across Sunamaru’s face.

**SUNAMARU**
Then I’ll make you my rival! I’ll beat you and become Kazekage! Just you wait, Gaara!

With that, the boy turned and ran back toward the village, his spirit ignited. Gaara watched him go, the ghost of his chuckle still on his lips. For the first time, someone had looked at him not as a demon or a weapon, but as a milestone on their own path. It was a strange, new kind of acknowledgment.

 

**EXT. SUNAGAKURE - TRAINING GROUNDS - DAY**

Baki found his team at their usual spot, a secluded area of cracked earth and towering rock spires. Gaara was meditating, the sand in his gourd shifting restlessly. Temari was running maintenance on her fan, and Kankuro was making minute adjustments to Karasu’s joints.

**BAKI**
The decision is made. I have enrolled Team 5 in the Chunin Exams.

The reaction was immediate and unified. All three sets of eyes locked onto him, burning with intense focus. There were no questions, no doubts. Only a silent, predatory anticipation. Without a word, they stood as one and moved, their destination clear.

**INT. SUNAGAKURE ACADEMY HALL - DAY**

The hallway outside the designated examination room was a simmering cauldron of tension. Genin from Suna and a handful of foreign villages milled about, the air thick with nervous energy, suppressed fear, and aggressive posturing.

Team 5 moved through the crowd like a ship cutting through waves, the other genin instinctively giving them a wide berth. Their reputation, it seemed, had already begun to precede them.

They hadn't gone far when a trio of older Suna genin deliberately stepped into their path. The leader was a tall, confident 15-year-old boy with a condescending smirk.

**TOKUBO**
Well, well. Look what the scorpion dragged in. You’re the talk of the lower ranks. The one with the puppet. Kankuro, right?

Kankuro stopped, his eyes narrowing. Temari and Gaara flanked him, their silence more intimidating than any threat.

**KANKURO**
What’s it to you?

**TOKUBO**
I’m Tokubo. Just sizing up the competition. You look… moderately strong for your age. It’s almost impressive.

Kankuro’s lip curled. He looked Tokubo up and down with a deliberately slow, dismissive glance.

**KANKURO**
I don’t feel the same way about you.

Tokubo’s smirk vanished, replaced by a scowl. Behind him, his female teammate, a girl with her hair in tight buns named Oneone, let out a sharp, humorless giggle.

**ONEONE**
He got you there, Tokubo.

Shooting her a venomous look, Tokubo turned and shouldered his way back into the crowd, Oneone following with an amused sway. Their third member, however, didn't move.

He was a boy about Kankuro’s age, with pale hair and intense, hollow-looking eyes. His name was Shira. He stared at Kankuro with an unnerving, single-minded focus.

**SHIRA**
Kankuro.

His voice was flat, devoid of the boasting tone his leader had used.

**SHIRA (CONT'D)**
My name is Shira. I don't care about talk or exams. I want to fight you. Now.

He took a step forward, his hand hovering near a kunai pouch. The ambient noise in the hallway seemed to fade, the focus narrowing to the space between these two boys.

**SHIRA (CONT'D)
Before we get locked in a room with rules. I want to see if you’re worthy of that puppet on your back.

Kankuro didn't flinch. A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. The air crackled. The first true challenge of the Chunin Exams had found them before the first exam had even begun.

 

**EXT. SUNAGAKURE ACADEMY COURTYARD - DAY**

The tension from the hallway spilled out into the dusty courtyard. With a silent, mutual understanding, Kankuro and Shira created a circle, with Temari, Gaara, and a few curious onlookers forming a loose perimeter.

The fight began without ceremony. Shira was a blur. His taijutsu was relentless, a storm of precise, punishing strikes. He used his bandages not just as a weapon, but as extensions of his limbs, whipping and entangling. Kankuro, more accustomed to fighting at a distance with his puppets, was immediately on the defensive, blocking and dodging, but taking several sharp hits that knocked the wind from him.

**KANKURO**
(Grunting, stumbling back)
Tch... annoying!

He couldn't create distance. With a grunt of frustration, Kankuro leaped back, his hands flying. The bundle on his back exploded open.

**KANKURO**
**Karasu!**

The crow-like puppet sprung to life, its multiple arms whirring. The dynamic shifted instantly. Now it was Shira who was forced back, deflecting a flurry of strikes from the puppet's poisoned blades and hidden mechanisms. Karasu was a relentless, unpredictable opponent, pushing Shira into a purely defensive stance.

But Shira’s eyes, cold and analytical, never wavered. He wasn't just dodging; he was learning. He watched the puppet's patterns, the way Kankuro's fingers twitched.

He saw it—a micro-second of hesitation as Kankuro repositioned. It was all the opening he needed.

In a move of breathtaking speed, Shira didn't target Kankuro. He targeted the puppet. A volley of shuriken, guided with impossible accuracy, shot past the puppet's flailing arms and *thwacked* into the wall behind it, pinning Karasu's main strings and one of its primary arms to the stone. The puppet jerked and went limp, trapped.

**SHIRA**
**Now.**

He lunged at the now-exposed Kankuro, his bandages unfurling like white serpents, aiming to wrap around Kankuro's throat in a technique that promised a swift, crushing end.

***SHINK!***

A single shuriken embedded itself in the wall, neatly pinning the leading end of Shira's bandages before they could touch Kankuro. The attack was frozen mid-air.

Everyone froze. They looked up.

Yashamaru stood on a walkway above, his hand still extended from the throw. His expression was calm but firm.

**YASHAMARU**
That's enough, Shira.

A rare, genuine smile touched Gaara's lips.

**GAARA**
Yashamaru-sensei!

Shira's eyes widened in surprise, looking from Gaara to his sensei. The intense focus drained from his face, replaced by chagrin.

**SHIRA**
Yashamaru-sensei... I...

**YASHAMARU**
The Chunin Exams are for sanctioned competition. Save your energy for the proctors, not your fellow villagers.

Shira gave a short, stiff bow.
**SHIRA**
I apologize.

He retracted his bandages, winding them back around his arms. As he did, Gaara’s sharp eyes caught the sight of Shira’s hands and wrists—they were a tapestry of old bruises, scrapes, and calluses. These weren't the wounds of a single fight; they were the marks of relentless, daily training.

**SHIRA** (to Kankuro)
I believe Tokubo is the strongest genin in Sunagakure. My goal is to defeat him. I needed to test my skills against someone of repute to see if I was ready.

His explanation was simple, devoid of malice. He had used Kankuro as a benchmark. With another nod to Yashamaru, Shira turned and walked away, his quiet intensity lingering in the air.

Kankuro stood there, retrieving his puppet, a simmering humiliation on his face. He had been tested, pinned, and then saved. It was a harsh lesson.

But then, he let out a short, sharp breath. He wiped the frustration from his face and replaced it with a sharp, determined smile. He looked at Temari and Gaara.

**KANKURO**
Well... this just got a lot more interesting.

The humiliation was fuel. The challenges of the Chunin Exams were no longer abstract; they had names and faces. And as Team 5 turned to walk back inside, their resolve was hardened, ready for the first exam to begin.

Of course. Here is the next scene.

---

**INT. EXAM HALL - DAY**

The air in the large classroom was thick enough to choke on. A hundred genin packed the room, the silence broken only by nervous shuffles and the occasional aggressive whisper. Team 5 had reclaimed their space, the brief skirmish with Shira leaving Kankuro visibly tense.

A boy with silver hair and round glasses approached them with an unassuming smile. He looked older, maybe nineteen, and wore a Suna headband.

**KABUTO**
Pardon the intrusion. You look like you could use some information. The name’s Kabuto Yakushi. This is my seventh time taking the exams.

Temari’s eyes narrowed. “Seven times? And still a genin?”

**KABUTO**
(Chuckles sheepishly)
Call me unlucky. But all those attempts have given me quite the collection of data. I have info cards on almost every participant.

He fanned out a deck of sleek, chakra-infused cards. Kankuro, still smarting from his defeat, leaned forward, his interest piqued.

**KANKURO**
Yeah? Let’s see. Show me that Shira kid. And the Konoha blonde, Naruto Uzumaki.

**KABUTO**
A curious selection.

He slid two cards from the deck. With a pulse of chakra, the first one activated, projecting data into the air.

**KABUTO (CONT'D)**
**Shira of Sunagakure.**
*Mission Record: 23 C-Ranks, 11 D-Ranks.*
*Skills: Specializes in close-quarters combat utilizing bandage-based jutsu. Recently, his taijutsu has shown marked, rapid improvement.*
*Team: Genin Team 6, under Yashamaru. Teammates: Tokubo, Oneone.*

Kankuro scowled. The mission count was impressive, confirming Shira was no novice. But it was the next card that made Temari’s eyes widen.

**KABUTO (CONT'D)**
**Naruto Uzumaki of Konohagakure.**
*Mission Record: 8 C-Ranks... 4 B-Ranks.*
*Team: Konoha Team 7. Teammates: Menma Uzumaki, Shiruna Uzumaki.*

A collective, sharp intake of breath came from Team 5. Four B-Ranks? As a genin? It was unheard of. The Konoha team they had brushed shoulders with was far more experienced than they had assumed.

**KABUTO (CONT'D)**
This year’s participants are formidable. The Cloud genin are ruthless, the Mist are silent killers, and the Stone are immovable. The only real unknown is this new village, Otogakure. A complete mystery. Probably not much to worry about.

His dismissive tone was a spark to tinder.

From across the room, a trio of strange genin with Oto headbands turned in unison. Their leader, a boy with bandages covering his mouth and strange devices on his wrists, snarled.

**DOSU**
You talk too much, Suna scum.

In a flash, Dosu was upon Kabuto, his sound-based weapon whirring to life. But Kabuto, with a speed that belied his gentle appearance, dodged with a simple, fluid step, his info cards neatly stored away.

Before the conflict could escalate, the front of the room filled with an oppressive wave of killing intent.

The proctors had arrived.

A massive, scarred man with an intimidating presence—**MORINO IBIKI**—stood before them, flanked by other serious-faced Chunin.

**IBIKI**
Sit down. All of you. The first portion of the Chunin Exams begins now.

The room fell into a dead silence. Ibiki’s gaze swept over the terrified genin.

**IBIKI (CONT'D)**
This is a written test.

The blood drained from Gaara’s face. His hands, which usually rested calmly at his sides, clenched into white-knuckled fists on the desk. The one thing that had held him back, the one thing he had failed twice. The written test. A cold dread, colder than any enemy’s killing intent, washed over him. The first and greatest obstacle on his path to becoming Kazekage was a piece of paper.

 

**INT. EXAM HALL - DAY**

The scratch of pencils on paper was the only sound, a frantic chorus of anxiety. Gaara sat stiffly, his knuckles white as he gripped his pencil. The questions on the page swam before his eyes, a blur of complex trigonometry, encryption theory, and tactical logistics. It was all meaningless. This was the wall he could never climb.

Temari, seated nearby, wrote with a calm, steady hand. Her sharp eyes, however, weren't just on her paper. She noted the Konoha proctors moving through the rows. *Konoha proctors in Suna... a joint-hosted exam. This is as much about intelligence gathering as it is about testing us.*

Ibiki’s voice had been crystal clear. You needed to get at least *one* answer right, on top of the final, unknown question. For Gaara, that single correct answer felt as distant as the moon.

**KANKURO'S DESK**

Kankuro scowled at his paper. "This is impossible," he muttered. Then, his eyes widened. He watched a proctor walk right past a genin from Stone who was subtly using a dust-based reflection jutsu to see his neighbor's answers. The proctor saw it—Kankuro was sure of it—and did nothing.

*They're not catching cheaters,* he realized. *They're catching* bad *cheaters. The test isn't about knowing the answers. It's about stealing them without being detected.*

A slow smirk spread across his face. He pretended to stretch, his fingers subtly manipulating chakra strings. A tiny, nearly invisible thread attached to the pencil of a known book-smart genin two rows over. He began to copy the answers, his own pencil moving in perfect sync with the other's.

After a few minutes, he raised his hand.

**KANKURO**
Bathroom break.

In the stall, he quickly scrawled the stolen answers onto a small scroll. He'd find a way to get it to Temari.

**THE HALL OF MIRRORS AND SOUND**

Around the room, the true talents of the genin were on display. Dosu of Otogakure closed his eyes, his strange wrist device picking up the minute vibrations of pencils on paper, deciphering the answers through sound alone. Tokubo, with a faint glow in his eyes, used a clan-specific dojutsu to see through papers and read the answers of those in front of him. Oneone had positioned tiny, polished mirrors on the ceiling, reflecting the answers of a genius from Cloud. She used a series of hand signals to relay them to Shira, who copied them down diligently.

**THE KONOHA TRIO - MUSIC SHIFTS, GROWING DARKER**

Then, the focus shifted to Team 7. Shiruna sat perfectly still, but from the shadows beneath her desk, two spectral, chain-like tendrils of chakra slithered out. One snaked across the floor, creeping up the leg of the proctor's desk to peek at the answer key. The other tendril wrapped around Menma's ankle, feeding the answers directly to him through a subtle transfer of chakra. Menma wrote with a confident, arrogant smirk.

Naruto, meanwhile, was whispering to himself, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Yeah... yeah, that feels right..." He was writing answers seemingly at random, but a faint, golden chakra—unseen by anyone else—flickered around him for a split second with each answer he put down.

**GAARA'S DESK**

Gaara was drowning. He saw the subtle movements around him. The cheating was an open secret. He had to try. His sand began to creep from his gourd, intending to form a tiny eye to peer at Temari's paper.

***THWACK!***

A kunai embedded itself in the desk of the genin sitting directly behind Gaara. The boy had been using a water reflection jutsu in his inkwell.

**IBIKI**
You there. Number 48. Disqualified. Leave. Now.

The genin was escorted out, weeping. Gaara’s sand instantly recoiled back into his gourd. His heart hammered in his chest. He had been milliseconds from being caught.

One by one, the proctors began to pounce. Genin were being disqualified left and right. The population of the room was thinning at an alarming rate. The pressure was immense.

Gaara looked down at his blank paper. He had answered nothing. He had failed to cheat. He had no points.

He swallowed hard, a cold sweat on his brow. Everything—his dream, his promise, his entire purpose—was now riding on the single, terrifying unknown of the final question.

 

**INT. EXAM HALL - DAY**

The room felt cavernous now, hollowed out by the absence of the disqualified. Only the most determined—or the most desperate—genin remained. The air was thick with a silent, collective dread.

Ibiki Morino stood before them, his massive frame blocking the light from the door. His single visible eye scanned the room, a predator sizing up wounded prey.

**IBIKI**
It’s time for the tenth and final question. But before I present it, you will be given a choice.

He let the silence hang, amplifying the tension.

**IBIKI (CONT'D)**
If you choose to answer it and get it wrong… you will be barred from ever taking the Chunin Exams again. For life.

A horrified gasp rippled through the room. For many, this was a death sentence to their shinobi careers before they had even truly begun.

**IBIKI (CONT'D)**
However… you may withdraw now. You and your teammates will fail this round, but you may try again next year. The choice is yours.

It was a devil’s bargain. Sacrifice your team’s chance now to preserve your future, or risk everything on a single, unknown question.

One by one, hands began to rise. Voices, choked with shame, muttered, “I withdraw.” Chairs scraped against the floor as genin stood and left, unable to bear the weight of the gamble. With every exit, the resolve of those who remained wavered.

Gaara sat frozen. The written test had been a disaster. He had no answers. He had no points. He was guaranteed to fail. If he gambled on this final question and lost, his dream of becoming Kazekage would be obliterated, not by a powerful enemy, but by a test. The safe choice, the logical choice, was to withdraw. To live to fight another day.

His hand trembled. Slowly, it began to rise from the desk.

Temari, watching from the corner of her eye, felt her heart sink. *No…*

But then, Gaara’s hand didn't just rise. It clenched into a fist and slammed back down onto the wooden desk with a loud **BANG** that echoed in the silent hall.

Every eye turned to him.

He looked up, his green eyes blazing with a fire that had nothing to do with Shukaku. He stared directly at Ibiki, his voice clear and sharp, cutting through the fear in the room.

**GAARA**
I’m not a quitter.

He took a sharp breath, his declaration ringing with absolute finality.

**GAARA (CONT'D)
I don’t care if I fail! I don’t care if I’m a genin forever! I will still become Kazekage! I’ll find a way! I’m not giving up!

His words were a spark in a room full of tinder. The genin who had been on the verge of leaving slowly lowered their hands. They looked at the small, red-haired boy from Suna, who had every reason to quit, and saw a reflection of their own buried determination. If he wasn't backing down, how could they?

Ibiki’s stern expression did not change, but a glint of deep approval shone in his eye. He had found what he was looking for.

A slow, surprisingly warm smile spread across his scarred face.

**IBIKI**
…Well done.

He paused, letting the confusion settle.

**IBIKI (CONT'D)**
All of you who remain… pass.

The room erupted in a collective, stunned silence, followed by disbelieving whispers.

**IBIKI (CONT'D)**
The first test was never about your knowledge. It was about gathering information under extreme pressure. It was about the courage to cheat, and the skill to do it undetected. But the tenth question… that was the real test.

His gaze swept over them, lingering on Gaara.

**IBIKI (CONT'D)**
A chunin must be a leader. They are often given missions with critical, unknown variables. The choice to withdraw was the choice to choose a safe mission with no intel. The choice to proceed, despite the risk of permanent failure, was the choice to accept a mission where failure is not an option. That is the resolve of a true chunin. You all chose to see it through.

He looked directly at Gaara.

**IBIKI (CONT'D)**
And you, genin. Your resolve… to pursue your goal even in the face of absolute, career-ending failure… that is the stuff of Kage. Remember this feeling.

Temari let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, a wave of pure relief washing over her. They had passed. Not by knowing the answers, but by having the courage to face the unknown.

Gaara simply sat, his heart still pounding, but now with a new, fierce pride. He had faced a different kind of enemy—his own doubt—and he had won.

Chapter Text

**INT. EXAM HALL - DAY**

Just as the relief from passing the first test began to settle, the main door to the hall creaked open. Kankuro slipped back in, trying to look nonchalant with the answer scroll hidden in his palm.

**IBIKI**
(Sternly)
Welcome back. Cutting it a bit close, weren't you?

Kankuro flinched, expecting disqualification.

***CRASH!***

The window behind Ibiki exploded inwards, shattering glass across the floor. A woman stood framed in the broken window, a wild grin on her face and a large scroll unfurled under her arm. It was **ANKO MITARASHI**.

**ANKO**
Well, well! Looks like a bunch of bright-eyed little chicks made it through the first round! Too bad for you! The party's just getting started!

She leaped down, landing with a theatrical flourish in the center of the room, her eyes scanning the genin with manic energy.

**ANKO (CONT'D)**
I'm Anko Mitarashi, and I'll be your proctor for the second round! So listen up! The second round begins tomorrow at 10 AM sharp at Training Ground 44!

Temari groaned audibly, pinching the bridge of her nose.

**TEMARI**
Training Ground 44... That's the one they call the Forest of Death. It's in Konoha. We have to travel to the Leaf Village for the next round.

**EXT. FOREST OF DEATH - GATES - DAY**

The following day, the remaining teams stood before the imposing, giant walls that enclosed the forest. The air itself felt heavier here, thick with moisture and the distant calls of unseen predators.

Anko stood atop the gate, relishing the nervous energy from below.

**ANKO**
Welcome, brats, to your worst nightmare! This is the Forest of Death! Here's the deal: you'll be competing for two scrolls—a Heaven Scroll and an Earth Scroll. Your team must obtain one of each and reach the tower in the center of the forest within five days. Simple, right?

She grinned, a predatory flash of teeth.

**ANKO (CONT'D)**
Oh, and one more thing... if you run out of food or water, well... let's just say the local wildlife is always hungry. Sign these waivers and let's get this bloodbath started!

As she laughed, Gaara, unimpressed by the theatrics, spoke up, his voice flat.

**GAARA**
I don't like your attitude.

Anko’s grin vanished. In a blur, she was behind him, a kunai pressed lightly against his throat, her voice a deadly whisper in his ear.

**ANKO**
Is that so, little Sand gnat? You should be careful. A bad attitude can get you killed in here.

**GAARA**
*Stunned by the killing intent*

The entire clearing held its breath. From amidst the Grass Village team, a kunoichi with long, deep red hair watched the exchange intently. *She's just like him,* the kunoichi thought, a shiver running down her spine. *The same crazy eyes.* Her gaze then shifted, locking onto Kankuro with chilling focus. She leaned over to her two teammates, her voice a barely audible whisper.

**GRASS KUNOICHI**
That's the one. The boy with the puppet. He's the target.

Anko, having made her point, vanished from behind Gaara and reappeared on the gate.

**ANKO**
Alright! Enough fun! The gates open now! Try not to die in the first five minutes!

With a great rumble, the massive gates swung inward, revealing a dark, tangled maw of vegetation. Without hesitation, teams began to surge forward, disappearing into the gloom.

Team 5 moved as one, a unit of focused intensity, stepping across the threshold and into the oppressive shade of the Forest of Death. Behind them, the Grass team melted into the shadows, their mission clear. The hunt was on.

 

**EXT. FOREST OF DEATH - NIGHT**

Hours had bled into a deep, oppressive night. The forest was alive with alien sounds—chittering, rustling, and the occasional distant scream that was cut short. A sudden, unnatural gale howled through the trees, a violent whirlwind that tore through Team 5's formation, scattering them into the darkness.

**TEMARI**
Kankuro!

**KANKURO**
I'm here!

They regrouped quickly, backs together, weapons drawn. A moment later, a small figure emerged from the shadows. It was Gaara, his face placid, the gourd on his back unmistakable.

**TEMARI**
Gaara! Thank the sands you're—

*Shink!*

A kunai flew from Kankuro's hand, not at a threat in the trees, but directly at "Gaara's" face.

The figure didn't flinch. His left hand snapped up and caught the kunai by the handle with casual, effortless precision.

Temari’s blood ran cold. *Gaara is right-handed.*

The "Gaara" grinned, a expression utterly foreign on the boy's usually stoic face. In a puff of smoke, the transformation melted away. Standing before them was the red-haired kunoichi from the Grass team, her smile a sickle moon in the gloom.

**GRASS KUNOICHI**
You're observant. A shame it won't save you.

Before Temari could swing her fan or Kankuro could summon Karasu, a wave of pure, suffocating **killing intent** crashed over them. It was a tangible force, thick and heavy as tar, rooting them to the spot. Their muscles locked, their breath caught in their throats. It was all they could do to stay standing.

The kunoichi didn't attack. Instead, she calmly produced a Heaven Scroll from her pouch. With her eyes locked on the paralyzed Suna siblings, she brought the scroll to her mouth and, with deliberate, disgusting bites, began to eat it.

**GRASS KUNOICHI (CONT'D)**
(Mouth full of paper)
Can't have you... taking it... now can I?

**MEANWHILE - DEEP IN THE FOREST**

The real Gaara had been searching for his teammates when the earth gave way beneath him. Not into a pit, but into a massive, wooden jaw. A gigantic puppet, camouflaged as a thicket, snapped shut around him, swallowing him whole.

He was plunged into absolute darkness. The air was thick with the smell of sawdust, old poison, and decay. He could feel the walls of the puppet coffin constricting around him.

**GAARA**
(His voice muffled, panicked)
Let me out! HELP!

It was a child's cry, ripped from a place of deep, claustrophobic terror. The fear of being buried alive, of being trapped in the dark, was the one nightmare that had haunted him since the day he was born.

**ELSEWHERE - A CLEARING**

Two Konoha chunin proctors patrolling the forest stumbled into a small clearing. They froze, their faces paling under the moonlight.

Three Grass genin lay dead in a heap. But they weren't just dead. Their faces had been meticulously, surgically removed, leaving behind raw, bloody muscle and bone. Their scroll was gone.

One of the proctors turned and vomited.

**ANKO**
(Arriving silently behind them)
What's the... oh.

Anko stared at the faceless corpses, her usual bravado gone. Her hand went unconsciously to the curse mark on her neck. A cold dread, older than the Forest of Death itself, settled in her stomach. She knew only one person who collected faces like trophies, who reveled in this specific kind of psychological terror.

**ANKO (CONT'D)**
(Whispering, a name she hadn't spoken in years)
Orochimaru...

His techniques were here. The exams were no longer a test. They were a hunting ground.

 

**INT. GIANT PUPPET - CONTINUOUS**

Darkness. Pressure. The creak of wood straining. This was it. The end. Buried alive inside a false body, just as he had been his whole life—a human coffin for a monster.

**GAARA**
Is this where it ends?

But then, memories flashed. Not of pain, but of a shared bowl of tsukemen. Of Yashamaru’s sad smile. Of climbing a tree under a starlit sky until his hands were raw, side-by-side with a rival. Of Kankuro, bleeding out on a bridge for him. *Why can't we just say it?* he thought, the frustration cutting through his fear. *Why can't we just admit we're...*

His eyes snapped open in the blackness.

**GAARA**
(Whispering, a vow)
No. I'm not giving up.

His chakra erupted. Not a trickle, but a tsunami.

**GAARA (CONT'D)**
**MULTI SAND CLONE JUTSU!!**

The interior of the puppet glowed with a terrible, orange light. Five hundred points of chakra ignited at once. There was no room for five hundred clones. There was only pressure.

***KABOOOOOM!***

The giant puppet exploded outwards from the inside, shattering into a million splinters that rained down on the forest. In the center of the devastation, Gaara landed in a crouch, his chest heaving, sand swirling around him like a vengeful halo.

**EXT. CLEARING - CONTINUOUS**

Temari and Kankuro were on the ropes. The Grass kunoichi’s puppets were massive, hulking things that moved with terrifying speed, their attacks shaking the ground. One swung a blade-studded arm straight for Temari’s head. She was too slow to dodge.

***CLANG!***

A kunai, thrown with impossible force, swatted the puppet’s arm aside, saving her.

Everyone froze. The kunoichi turned.

Gaara stood on a tree branch above them, his expression cold, his clothes torn but his body unharmed.

**TEMARI**
(Relieved)
Gaara!

**KANKURO**
You’re okay!

**GAARA**
(Jumping down, landing between his team and the kunoichi)
I’ll handle her.

**KANKURO**
Wait wha-! Are you insane?! She’s in a different league! Her chakra, her skill... she’s not a genin!

The kunoichi laughed, a sound like scraping metal. She didn't deny it.

Gaara ignored Kankuro and charged. It was a futile assault. She deflected his sand with a wave of her hand, and with the other, she sent one of her giant puppets slamming into him. Gaara was thrown back, skidding across the ground.

He got up, charged again. The result was the same. He was utterly outclassed.

Panic seized Kankuro. He saw the killing intent in the kunoichi's eyes. This wasn't an exam anymore. He fumbled for their Earth Scroll and held it out, his hand trembling.

**KANKURO**
Take it! Just take the scroll and let us go! Please!

**GAARA**
(Staggering to his feet)
Kankuro, no!

**KANKURO**
(Screaming, voice cracking)
SHUT UP, GAARA! DO YOU WANT US TO DIE?!

Something in Gaara snapped. He wasn't angry at the kunoichi. He was furious at Kankuro’s surrender. In a flash, he crossed the distance and punched Kankuro square in the jaw, sending him stumbling back.

**GAARA**
The Kankuro I know isn't a coward! The one who took a hit for me! Where is he?!

In that moment, the Grass kunoichi saw her opening. Her largest puppet, a monstrous thing with drill-like hands, lunged forward, aiming to impale the distracted Gaara from behind.

Gaara didn't even turn. His sand reacted on pure instinct. His leg, sheathed in solid, granite-like sand, snapped out in a powerful roundhouse kick.

***CRACK!***

His foot connected with the puppet’s head. The sound wasn't of sand hitting wood; it was the sound of a boulder shattering a tree trunk. The puppet’s head exploded into splinters, and its massive body was hurled sideways, crashing into the trees.

Silence.

Gaara stood panting, his back still to the destroyed puppet. He slowly turned his head to look at Kankuro, his voice dropping to a low, concerned growl.

**GAARA**
Are you hurt?

Kankuro looked up from the ground, his jaw aching, his eyes wide with a terror that had nothing to do with the Grass kunoichi. He was staring at Gaara’s face.

The whites of Gaara’s eyes were gone, replaced by a void of pitch black. His irises blazed a hellish yellow. And when he spoke, Kankuro saw the glint of sharp, needle-like fangs.

This wasn't the stubborn genin he’d climbed a tree with. This was the monster from the bridge.

And it had just asked him if he was okay.

 

The Grass kunoichi didn't even flinch at the destruction of her puppet. With a wave of her hand, the splinters reassembled themselves, the puppet reforming in a grotesque display of chakra threads and regeneration. The newly formed limbs, like serpentine vines, shot out and wrapped around the thrashing, bestial Gaara, constricting him tightly.

**GRASS KUNOICHI**
(Muttering to herself)
So this is the vessel... the One-Tail's host. Perfect.

Despite his feral strength, Gaara’s sand was confused, sluggish. The sheer power of the chakra strings was overwhelming. He roared, a sound more animal than human, but he couldn't break free.

The kunoichi closed in, her movements clinical. She lifted the back of Gaara's shirt, ignoring his snarls. Her fingers, glowing with malevolent black chakra, pressed against the small of his back.

**GRASS KUNOICHI (CONT'D)**
**Five Elements Seal!**

The dark energy shot into Gaara’s body, violently disrupting his chakra flow. The black sclera and yellow eyes vanished in an instant. His snarls cut off, his body went limp, and the sand around him collapsed into an inert pile. He was unconscious.

The kunoichi tossed his limp form aside like garbage. Temari reacted instantly, throwing a kunai that pierced the collar of Gaara’s jacket, pinning him to a nearby tree trunk, preventing him from hitting the ground.

**TEMARI**
(Her voice shaking with fury, to Kankuro)
Get up! Look at him! He’s a brat, and he still fought! What’s your excuse?!

Kankuro stared at Gaara, pinned to the tree like a butterfly. He saw the helplessness, the vulnerability. It was the same feeling he’d had years ago, hiding while a man named Hiruko slaughtered his entire clan. The same powerlessness.

*Temari’s right,* he thought, the shame burning hotter than any fear. *If I can’t face this... how will I ever face Hiruko?*

A new resolve hardened in his eyes. The fear was still there, but it was now a fuel.

**KANKURO**
You’re right.

He stood, his posture straightening. He pulled Karasu from his back, the puppet’s crow-face seeming to glare at the kunoichi.

**KANKURO (CONT'D)**
Let’s dance.

What followed was a grueling, desperate battle. Temari provided covering fire with her wind, while Kankuro and Karasu fought with a synchronization born of newfound desperation. They pushed, they weaved, they exploited a tiny opening. A combined attack of a wind scythe and a puppet’s kick finally knocked the kunoichi from her high branch.

She landed hard but rolled to her feet, seemingly unharmed.

Kankuro was breathing heavily, his chakra nearly spent. He saw her preparing another assault. There was only one option left, a forbidden, chakra-intensive technique he’d never mastered.

**KANKURO**
**Karasu: Secret Technique—Fire Breath of the Black Crow!**

Karasu’s chest cavity opened, and a torrent of searing black fire erupted, engulfing the kunoichi completely. Her screams were short, terrible. The smell of burning flesh and synthetic materials filled the air. The flames died down, leaving a charred, twitching figure on the forest floor.

Kankuro dropped to one knee, panting, a tired, victorious smile on his face. He’d done it.

Then, the charred figure moved.

The blackened skin cracked and peeled away, not revealing bone, but another layer of skin—softer, younger. The form shifted, shrunk. The long red hair of the kunoichi fell away like a wig, revealing the face of a teenage boy with short, vibrant red hair and calm, unnerving eyes.

The boy stood up, brushing the last of the burnt disguise from his shoulders. He looked at Kankuro with something akin to professional admiration.

**SASORI**
Impressive. For a child, that fire technique had... passion.

With a fluid motion, he unsealed a scroll. In a puff of smoke, a beautiful, androgynous humanoid puppet appeared. It moved faster than the eye could follow. Its arm detached, and a clawed hand shot out, scraping across Kankuro’s neck before he could react.

A searing, paralyzing poison instantly flooded his system. His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed, consciousness fleeing.

**TEMARI**
(Screaming)
KANKURO! Who are you?!

The red-haired boy recalled his puppet, looking at Temari with detached indifference.

**SASORI**
My name is Sasori.

And with that, he vanished into the shadows of the forest, leaving only his name hanging in the air like a death sentence.

Temari stood frozen, her blood running cold. *Sasori.* The legendary puppeteer. The man who had abandoned Suna two decades ago. A monster from the stories her elders told to frighten children.

She was alone in the Forest of Death. One teammate was pinned to a tree, sealed and unconscious. The other was lying at her feet, poisoned and dying. And they had just attracted the attention of a living legend.

Of course. Here is the next scene.

---

### **Scene 39: Bonds of Sand and Shadow**

**EXT. FOREST OF DEATH - NIGHT**

The night was endless. Temari sat vigil between the tree where Gaara was pinned and the ground where Kankuro lay convulsing in a cold sweat. She had staunched the bleeding around Gaara's kunai-pinned collar, and had torn strips from her own clothes to bind Kankuro’s poisoned neck, trying to slow the toxin's spread. It was futile, but she had to try.

A strange, unfamiliar warmth settled in her chest as she watched over them. It was a feeling a shinobi wasn't supposed to have. Attachment was a liability. Comrades were tools to be used for the mission's success. Yet, looking at Gaara's unnervingly peaceful, unconscious face and hearing Kankuro's ragged breaths, she didn't see tools. She saw the stubborn boy who dreamed of leading the village, and the sharp-tongued prodigy who hid his pain behind a scowl. They felt like... brothers. The irony was a silent, painful secret held only by the Kazekage and a ghost.

**Suddenly, a rustle in the foliage.**

Temari snapped to her feet, fan ready, her exhaustion burned away by adrenaline.

Team Dosu emerged from the shadows. Dosu, Kin, and Zaku. Their expressions were cold, mission-focused.

**DOSU**
(Looking at the incapacitated Team 5)
Just as Lord Sasori said. The Sand team is crippled.

**KIN**
He said to eliminate them. A clean sweep.

**ZAKU**
Looks like someone already did most of the work for us.

Temari’s heart hammered against her ribs. *Lord Sasori? He commands Oto genin?* She was wounded, low on chakra, and facing three fresh opponents. This was it.

Just as Dosu raised his sound-emitting gauntlet, a voice cut from the other side.

**SHIRA**
I can't stand by and watch a fellow Sand team be slaughtered.

Shira stood there, his bandages unwound and ready, his expression grim. He wasn't looking at Temari with friendship, but with a cold, professional duty. The village came first, even if the team was made of rivals.

**DOSU**
Tch. Another sand-fly. Fine. We'll crush you both.

**ELSEWHERE - DEEP IN THE FOREST**

Anko moved like a ghost, her senses stretched to their limit. She found him standing calmly in a moonlit clearing, as if waiting for her.

**ANKO**
Sasori of the Red Sand. I should have known the stench of that puppet was yours. Why kill the Grass genin? And how do you know Orochimaru's Five Elements Seal?

Sasori didn't turn. His voice was as calm and lifeless as a doll's.

**SASORI**
Tell me, little snake. Has your village informed you of the great crime it is about to commit?

Anko froze, her hand on a kunai. "What are you talking about?"

**SASORI**
No. I see they haven't. How typical.

He finally glanced at her, a flicker of amusement in his dead eyes.

**SASORI (CONT'D)**
As for your other question... Orochimaru and I were once associates in a certain organization. It's only natural I would be familiar with his parlor tricks.

Before Anko could process this—the implication of an *organization* containing monsters like Orochimaru and Sasori—he dissolved into a cloud of sawdust and chakra threads, vanishing without a trace.

Anko was left alone in the clearing. The exam wasn't just compromised. It was a battlefield in a war she didn't even know was being waged.

 

**EXT. FOREST OF DEATH - NIGHT**

The battle was a chaotic symphony of wind and bandages. Temari’s fan carved destructive arcs, forcing Kin and Zaku to scatter and dodge. Shira was a whirlwind of precise, brutal taijutsu, his cloth wraps deflecting Dosu’s disorienting sound waves and lashing out like striking serpents. They were holding their own, a temporary, desperate alliance.

But Temari was tiring, her chakra depleted from the fight with Sasori. A misstep—a slow dodge—left her open. Zaku took aim, his palm cannon pointed at her back.

**ZAKU**
Got you!

Suddenly, a low, guttural growl cut through the din of battle. It came from the ground where Kankuro lay.

He was rising. Not slowly, but in a single, jerky, unnatural motion, as if pulled upright by invisible strings. His head was bowed, but they could all see it—his face was now covered in a grotesque, asymmetrical splash of ugly purple paint, like a corrupted kabuki mask. It pulsed with a malevolent, sickly energy.

**KANKURO**
(Voice a distorted, layered rasp)
Who... dared to hurt my comrades?

The air grew heavy. This wasn't the Kankuro they knew.

Zaku, recovering from his shock, scoffed, trying to mask his fear with bravado.

**ZAKU**
We did, you painted freak! And you're next! **Decapitating Airwaves!**

He unleashed a focused, visible torrent of compressed air, sharp enough to slice through trees. It hit Kankuro square in the chest.

Kankuro didn't block. He didn't dodge. He simply... absorbed it. The force of the blast tore his jacket, but his body didn't even stagger. He took a step forward, then another, walking through the devastating technique as if it were a gentle breeze.

**KANKURO**
(His head tilting at a broken angle)
That tickles.

In a blur of speed that was nothing like his usual style, he vanished. He reappeared directly behind Zaku, his movements unnervingly fluid and silent.

**KANKURO (CONT'D)**
You use your arms to attack. How... inconvenient.

His hands, moving faster than sight, shot out. There were two sickening, simultaneous *CRUNCH*es. Zaku’s scream was a high-pitched shriek of agony as both of his arm cannons were shattered at the elbows, rendered useless.

Kankuro didn't even look at him fall. His head, still tilted, swiveled to face Dosu. The single visible eye behind the purple paint was devoid of any emotion, any humanity. It was the eye of a predator assessing its next meal.

Dosu, the confident leader, felt a primal fear he'd never known. He didn't speak. He simply fumbled in his pouch, pulled out his Earth Scroll, and threw it at Kankuro's feet. He then grabbed the writhing, sobbing Zaku and, with a terrified glance at Kin, fled into the darkness without a backward glance.

The purple paint on Kankuro’s face began to recede, fading like ink in water. The unnatural tension left his body, and he stumbled, his own consciousness returning. He looked down at his hands, then at the retreating Sound ninja, confused.

**TEMARI**
(Panting, her voice laced with fear)
Kankuro... snap out of it! What was that?

Kankuro shook his head, the last of the purple vanishing. "I... I don't know." He genuinely didn't. It was a surge of power, a rage he hadn't known he possessed.

Shira stared at the now-normal Kankuro, his usual cold composure shattered. He had seen many things, but nothing like that feral, paint-smeared demon that had walked through a lethal jutsu and crippled an enemy without a second thought. He took a step back.

**SHIRA**
My duty is done. You're safe.

Without another word, he turned and melted into the forest, moving quickly, unnerved to his core. He had come to save a fellow Sand team, but he had witnessed a monster hiding within one of them.

Temari looked from the departed Shira to the confused Kankuro, then to Gaara, still pinned to the tree. They were alive, but the cost was becoming terrifyingly clear.

 

**EXT. FOREST OF DEATH - DAY**

The first rays of dawn filtered through the thick canopy, illuminating the aftermath of the night's terror. Temari, moving carefully, removed the kunai pinning Gaara’s collar to the tree and caught him as he slumped forward. She gently shook him.

**TEMARI**
Gaara. Gaara, wake up.

Gaara’s eyes fluttered open, the normal green slowly returning to focus. He looked around, disoriented.

**GAARA**
What... happened? The puppet... the seal...

**TEMARI**
You’re lucky you missed it. Let’s just leave it at that.

She helped him sit up, her own body aching with exhaustion. Her gaze then shifted to Kankuro, who was sitting a few feet away, staring blankly at his hands as if they didn't belong to him.

**TEMARI (CONT'D)**
(Kneeling beside Kankuro, her voice low)
Kankuro. What was that? The purple marks... the power...

Kankuro didn't look at her. His voice was a hollow whisper.

**KANKURO**
I heard a voice... in the dark. It kept whispering... telling me I was weak. That I would always be weak. And I kept seeing... *him*.

He clenched his fists, the memory causing a physical tremor. He couldn't bring himself to say the name *Hiruko* aloud—the man who had destroyed his clan, the man whose face was etched into his every nightmare. That feral power had felt like the only way to close the gaping chasm of weakness that memory represented.

**MEANWHILE - ANOTHER PART OF THE FOREST**

Shira regrouped with Tokubo and Oneone. Their usual air of superior confidence was gone, replaced by a pale, shaken silence.

**TOKUBO**
(His voice uncharacteristically grim)
You missed it, Shira. We saw something... something we shouldn't have.

**ONEONE**
( Nodding, her usual giggle absent)
It was... horrifying.

**[FLASHBACK - 20 MINUTES EARLIER]**

Tokubo and Oneone watched, hidden deep within a thick bush, as Team 7 of Konoha faced off against Team Shigure from the Rain.

**SHIGURE**
(Sneering, spinning his umbrella)
The famous Konoha brats. Hand over your scroll and we might let you leave with only a few scars.

**MENMA**
(Calmly analyzing)
Naruto. Their scroll is likely the same as ours. There's no need for a fight.

**NARUTO**
A wide, unnerving grin spread across his face, but his eyes were cold.
I don't care. They looked at me in a wrong way.

**SHIGURE**
(Laughing)
Wrong way? You're as stupid as you look! We have a Heaven Scroll, and we'll be taking your Earth Scroll now! **Senbon Shower!**

He spun his umbrella, unleashing a dense cloud of needle-like senbon. But Naruto didn't retreat. He moved with an impossible, fluid speed, his body contorting in ways that defied physics, every needle missing him by a hair's breadth.

**SHIGURE (CONT'D)**
(Eyes wide)
What?!

**NARUTO**
My turn.

As he landed, something monstrous happened. A thick, pulsating arm of vibrant orange chakra, covered in a bestial, bubbling texture, shot out from Naruto’s back. It wasn't a jutsu. It was a part of him.

It moved faster than any of them could track. It didn't strike. It *erased*.

It passed through Shigure and his two teammates. There was no scream, only a wet, tearing sound. For a moment, the three Rain genin stood frozen. Then, a fine, crimson mist erupted from their bodies, followed by a torrent of blood that soaked the surrounding foliage, creating a grisly, artificial rain.

The orange arm retracted into Naruto, who stood panting slightly, a dark, satisfied smirk on his face amidst the downpour of blood.

**MENMA**
(Sighing, as if mildly inconvenienced)
A bit messy, brother.

**SHIRUNA**
Let's just get the scroll and go.

**[END FLASHBACK]**

Back in the present, Shira stared at his teammates, his own encounter with Kankuro's transformation suddenly feeling less unique, and far more like a pattern. There weren't just monsters in the Forest of Death. There were cataclysms walking on two legs, and they were all trapped in here with them.

 

**EXT. FOREST OF DEATH - DAY**

Shira stood in stunned silence, trying to process the image of the Rain genin being obliterated by a chakra arm. But Tokubo held up a hand, his face still pale.

**TOKUBO**
That’s not even the full story. It’s what happened next...

**[FLASHBACK - CONTINUOUS]**

Hidden in the bush, Tokubo and Oneone watched, barely daring to breathe. The coppery smell of blood filled the air.

**MENMA**
(His voice tight, controlled)
Let’s take the scroll and reach the tower. Now.

**NARUTO**
Why? This is fun. I say we hunt. More scrolls, more fights. Let’s paint the whole forest red.

**MENMA**
(Swiveling to face him, his calm cracking)
This isn’t a game, Naruto! That little display might be a cakewalk for you, but it draws attention! It’s dangerous for us to stay here!

**NARUTO**
(A dark, mocking laugh)
Dangerous for *you*, you mean. You’re just a weak, pathetic loser who can’t keep up with me. Always hiding behind big brotherly advice.

The insult hung in the air, sharp and final. Menma’s composure shattered. In two quick strides, he was in Naruto’s face, grabbing him by the collar and lifting him off the ground.

**MENMA**
(Voice a low, venomous snarl)
You will *not* speak to me that way. I am your older brother. Show some respect.

**SHIRUNA**
(Her voice trembling)
Naruto! Menma! Please, both of you, calm down!

She offered a nervous, pleading smile, but her eyes were wide with fear. This was a fight she couldn’t stop.

Naruto’s hand shot up, breaking Menma’s grip with unnatural ease. He shoved Menma back, his eyes blazing with contempt.

**NARUTO**
I never asked for brothers. I never considered you my family. You’re just... baggage.

His gaze, still burning with fury, suddenly shifted away from Menma. He turned his head, and his eyes seemed to look directly through the foliage, pinpointing the exact bush where Tokubo and Oneone were hiding.

**NARUTO (CONT'D)**
And we have eavesdroppers.

He raised his hand, palm open, towards their hiding spot.

Tokubo’s dojutsu-activated eyes widened in horror. He wasn't just seeing one mass of chakra within Naruto. He was seeing two—a swirling, violent blue ocean clashing violently with a bubbling, hateful orange inferno, both contained within the same body.

**TOKUBO**
(Whispering to Oneone)
His chakra... there are two sources! It’s... it’s not possible!

**ONEONE**
(Whispering back, terrified)
He knows we’re here!

**SHIRUNA**
Naruto, stop! Calm down!

But Naruto wasn’t listening. A sphere of volatile, rotating blue chakra began to form in his palm, crackling with untamed energy. It was aimed directly at them.

Just as it seemed he would unleash it, the ground beneath Naruto’s feet erupted. A giant snake, maw wide enough to swallow him whole, burst from the soil.

Naruto didn't even look surprised. With a flick of his wrist, he instantly slammed the fully-formed Rasengan into the snake’s head. The creature’s skull vaporized on contact, its body dissolving into mud and smoke—a summon, not a real beast.

The distraction was enough. Shiruna seized the moment.

**SHIRUNA**
(Screaming)
We’re leaving! NOW!

The Konoha trio vanished in a whirl of leaves, leaving behind the bloody clearing and two terrified Suna genin, their hearts pounding against their ribs.

**[END FLASHBACK]**

Back in the present, the three members of Team 6 stood in silence. The Forest of Death was no longer just a test. It was a prison holding uncontrollable forces: the split-souled demon of Leaf. And they were all trapped inside with them.

Chapter Text

**EXT. RIVERBANK - FOREST OF DEATH - DAY**

A small, carefully contained fire crackled by the riverbank. Temari and Kankuro had managed to spear a few fish, which now sizzled over the flames. The normalcy of the task was a stark contrast to the horrors of the previous night. Kankuro moved stiffly, the memory of the purple paint and shattered arms a fresh wound. Temari watched him, her expression unreadable.

Gaara sat apart from them, staring at the Earth Scroll they had taken from Dosu. It felt heavy in his hands, a tangible key to the next stage. His brow was furrowed in thought. *How does it work? What’s inside?* The logic was simple: if they needed both, perhaps they needed to be opened together. His fingers twitched, tempted to break the seal.

Just as his nails began to pry at the edge, a hand gently but firmly covered his, stopping him.

**KABUTO**
I really wouldn’t do that if I were you.

Gaara flinched, snatching his hand back as if burned. Kabuto stood there, his glasses glinting, that same unassuming smile on his face.

**KABUTO (CONT'D)**
Unless you want to be disqualified, of course. Opening a scroll before reaching the tower is an instant fail. They’re booby-trapped with a genjutsu that knocks out anyone not in the designated safe zone.

Temari and Kankuro were instantly on their feet, weapons drawn. They hadn't heard him approach.

**TEMARI**
You! How long have you been watching us?

**KANKURO**
What do you want, info-broker?

Their disappointment was palpable, directed not at Kabuto, but at Gaara. He had almost cost them everything.

**GAARA**
(Looking at the ground, voice low)
I... apologize. I didn't know.

**KABUTO**
(He raises his hands in a placating gesture)
It’s a common mistake for first-timers. No harm done. I actually came to offer my assistance. This forest is more dangerous than anyone anticipated. Alliances can mean survival.

He gestured to the dense, looming trees. "I know a safe path to the tower. One that avoids... the more volatile participants."

Temari’s eyes narrowed. Her instincts screamed that this was too convenient. A genin who had failed six times, yet moved through the Forest of Death like it was his backyard, possessing intricate knowledge of the rules and the other teams. It didn't add up.

But the practical part of her mind won out. They were down on chakra, Kankuro was injured, and Gaara was a liability when it came to conventional shinobi rules. They needed an edge.

**TEMARI**
(Sighing, lowering her fan)
Fine. We accept your help. But one wrong move...

**KABUTO**
(His smile widens, a practiced, harmless expression)
Of course. Understood. I am, after all, a fellow Suna shinobi. We look out for our own.

He said the last part with a tone that was just a little too smooth. Kankuro shot Temari a look that said, *This is a bad idea*, but he said nothing. They had no better options.

As Kabuto led the way, charting a course through a path only he seemed to see, Team 5 fell in behind him. Temari’s suspicion was a live wire, Kankuro’s silence was heavy with unease, and Gaara simply followed, his mind wrestling with the fact that his simple, logical action could have ended his dream before it truly began. They were moving toward the tower, but it felt like they were walking deeper into a web.

 

**EXT. FOREST OF DEATH - TOWER - DAY**

True to his word, Kabuto led Team 5 along a path that seemed unnervingly clear of danger. They encountered no other teams, no giant predators, only the oppressive silence of the forest. It was as if the woods themselves were parting for him. Soon, the massive, imposing structure of the central tower loomed before them.

**KABUTO**
Here we are. Safe and sound. I wish you the best of luck in the next stage.

He gave them that same, placid smile and a slight bow before melting back into the tree line, disappearing as quietly as he had arrived.

Team 5 exchanged a look. The whole encounter felt... unclean.

**INT. TOWER - MAIN HALL - DAY**

The interior of the tower was stark and silent, a tomb after the chaos of the forest. A few other teams had already arrived, huddled in small, exhausted groups. Team 5 found a quiet corner, the relief of survival temporarily overshadowing their suspicions.

**INT. TOWER - UPPER OBSERVATION ROOM - CONTINUOUS**

In a secluded room high above the main hall, Kabuto stood with his two teammates, the bland Yoroi and the lanky Misumi. The air of the harmless, bumbling genin was completely gone, replaced by a cold, professional efficiency.

The door opened silently. Sasori entered, his movements utterly soundless. He didn't acknowledge the other two, his gaze fixed on Kabuto.

**SASORI**
Well?

Without a word, Kabuto produced a single info card from his deck. He didn't activate its projection. He simply handed the physical card to Sasori.

**KABUTO**
As requested. Data on the puppeteer, Kankuro. Recovered after the... altercation in the forest.

Sasori took the card, his fingers, delicate and precise, holding it as if it were a rare artifact. His eyes, cold and analytical, scanned the data imprinted on its surface. A flicker of interest, dark and possessive, passed through them.

**SASORI**
(Muttering to himself)
"Survived the Puppeteer Clan Massacre... sole heir to their techniques... shows rapid, volatile growth under stress..."

He looked down into the main hall, his eyes pinpointing the small figure of Kankuro sitting against a far wall. He eyed the info card, then the boy, like a predator assessing a potential new specimen for his collection. The card wasn't just paper; it was a blueprint. A recipe for a new, interesting puppet.

**SASORI (CONT'D)**
Adequate.

That single, dispassionate word was a death sentence in the making. He turned and left the room as silently as he had entered, the info card disappearing into his robes.

Kabuto adjusted his glasses, the light glinting off the lenses and obscuring his eyes. The bait had been taken. The pieces were moving exactly as Lord Orochimaru had foreseen.

Down below, completely unaware that he had just been cataloged and coveted by one of the most dangerous shinobi alive, Kankuro simply leaned his head back against the cold stone wall and closed his eyes, trying to forget the feel of breaking another boy's arms.

 

**INT. TOWER - MAIN HALL - DAY**

The air in the vast hall was thick with exhaustion and tension. Only fifteen genin remained, standing in five ragged teams before a raised dais. The Third Kazekage stood imposingly at its center, flanked by proctors from both Suna and Konoha. The Konoha proctors had grim, set jaws, and one leaned in to whisper urgently to the Kazekage.

**KONOHA PROCTOR**
(Whispering)
...confirmed sighting by Anko. His methods are unmistakable. He's here, inside the exam grounds. The risk is extreme.

The Third Kazekage’s face was an unreadable mask of stone, but his mind raced. *Sasori.* The prodigy who had turned his back on the village. His presence was a poison, a direct challenge. To cancel the exams now would be a public admission of weakness, of fear. It would shatter Suna's credibility.

His voice, when it came, was a low rumble that filled the hall, betraying none of his internal conflict.

**THIRD KAZEKAGE**
You have all surpassed the first two trials. You have proven your resourcefulness, your resolve, and your strength. The final stage of the Chunin Exams will proceed.

A wave of relief and renewed anxiety passed through the genin. Behind the dais, the Jonin senseis of the passing teams stood watching. Baki, his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on his team. Yashamaru, his expression soft but his eyes sharp with concern for Shira. Shizune, representing Konoha, looked on with professional calm, though a faint worry line creased her brow. And a red-haired man from Otogakure, his expression utterly blank, observed Team Dosu.

Among the genin, Temari leaned toward Kankuro, her voice a hushed, urgent whisper.

**TEMARI**
Kankuro, you should withdraw. After what happened in the forest... that power... it's not safe.

**KANKURO**
(Without looking at her)
It's none of your business.

**GAARA**
(His voice flat, cutting through their argument)
She is worried for you.

Kankuro finally turned his head, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and defiance.

**KANKURO**
I don't care about becoming Chunin. I don't care about the title. What I want is to test myself. To fight strong foes and prove I'm not that weak little boy anymore.

Gaara scowled, the expression looking out of place on his usually placid face. He didn't understand this recklessness.

But then, Kankuro’s intense expression softened into a faint, challenging smile. He looked directly at Gaara.

**KANKURO (CONT'D)**
And you're one of them. Don't think I've forgotten. I still want to fight you, Gaara.

Gaara’s scowl vanished, replaced by a look of stunned silence. The declaration wasn't one of hatred, but of acknowledgment. A rival's promise. It was a language he was starting to understand.

The Third Kazekage’s gaze swept over the room, his decision made. The exams would continue. It was a calculated risk. He would use the finals as a stage—both to showcase Suna's new generation, and as a trap, bait to draw the scorpion, Sasori, out into the open where he could be dealt with.

 

**INT. TOWER - MAIN HALL - DAY**

The Third Kazekage’s announcement hung in the air, the promise of direct combat sending a fresh current of tension through the remaining genin. Before anyone could fully process it, a Konoha proctor with a persistent cough stepped forward. It was **Hayate Gekko**.

**HAYATE**
(Coughing lightly into his hand)
Before the preliminary matches begin, the rules allow for any participant who is feeling unwell or injured to withdraw now. This is your only chance.

A moment of silence passed. Then, a hand went up.

All eyes turned. It was **Kabuto**.

A wave of confused murmurs swept through the hall. The info-broker who had navigated the Forest of Death with such ease? The seven-time exam veteran?

**KABUTO**
(With a pained, apologetic smile)
I must withdraw. My injuries from the forest... they're more severe than I let on. I apologize.

He gave a shallow bow to the proctors and began to walk toward the exit. As he passed Team 5, Gaara, remembering the guide who had helped them, spoke up, his voice low but clear.

**GAARA**
Why are you doing this?

Kabuto paused, his back to Gaara. He glanced over his shoulder, his glasses obscuring his eyes.

**KABUTO**
Some battles cannot be won with injuries, Gaara. A shinobi must know his limits. Good luck.

He continued walking, exiting the main hall and leaving a void of confusion in his wake. The moment he was gone, his teammate Yoroi caught up to him in the antechamber, grabbing his arm.

**YOROI**
(Hissing)
Are you out of your mind, Kabuto? What about the mission?

**KABUTO**
(His pleasant facade vanishing, his voice cold and efficient)
My cover was at its limit. Staying would have risked exposure. The mission remains. The neutralization of the primary target is now your and Misumi's responsibility. Do not fail.

Without another word, Kabuto disappeared down a dark corridor, his role as a passive observer complete, his true purpose now delegated.

Back in the main hall, a large board flickered to life, chakra characters scrambling randomly before the screen. Names tumbled over each other, a lottery of fate. The genin watched, hearts pounding, as the flickering slowed... and then stopped.

The first match of the preliminary round was displayed for all to see:

**YOROI AKADO(Suna) vs. MENMA UZUMAKI(Konoha)**

A hush fell over the room. The other participants were ushered up a wide staircase to a spectator balcony overlooking the newly revealed combat arena below. As they filed up, the atmosphere was a mix of relief, anticipation, and dread.

Down in the arena, Yoroi cracked his knuckles, a confident smirk on his face. Across from him, Menma Uzumaki stood with his hands in his pockets, his expression one of bored contempt, the dark collar of his jacket seeming to swallow the light.

The first battle was about to begin.

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

Chapter Text

**INT. TOWER - PRELIMINARY ARENA - DAY**

Something was wrong.

From the moment Hayate Gekko signaled the start of the match, Menma knew it. Every movement felt heavier, every thought slogged through mud. Yoroi, the Oto-nin, moved with a predator's confidence, his fists landing with solid, bruising impacts that Menma would normally evade with ease.

**YOROI**
(Smirking, easily dodging a sluggish jab)
Is this all Konoha's famous Uzumaki has to offer? I'm disappointed.

Menma panted, stumbling back. It was like fighting in a dream. He tried to mold chakra for a substitution, but the energy fizzled at his fingertips, violently siphoned away before it could form. *His hands... he's draining my chakra on contact!*

Yoroi closed in, a flash of green chakra enveloping his palm as he grabbed Menma's wrist. The drain intensified, a nauseating pull that made Menma's knees buckle.

**YOROI (CONT'D)**
It's over. Your chakra is mine.

The spectators watched in tense silence. Shiruna gripped the railing, her knuckles white. Naruto watched with a bored, almost disappointed expression. On the Suna side, Kankuro observed the technique with a puppeteer's analytical eye, noting the efficient, parasitic nature of the jutsu.

Yoroi drew back his other fist for a final, chakra-enhanced knockout blow.

It was the opening Menma had been waiting for.

In that split second, as Yoroi committed to the attack, his draining grip loosened by a fraction. It was all Menma needed.

His head snapped up. His eyes, previously dull with fatigue, sharpened with a lightning-fast intensity.

**MENMA**
**Lightning Style: Lightning Flash!**

He didn't weave signs. The jutsu erupted from him. His body became a blinding, white-blue streak of light, too fast to follow. He wasn't moving; he was *teleporting*. He vanished from Yoroi's grasp, reappearing an inch behind the stunned 'Suna-nin.'

Yoroi's eyes widened, his smirk vanishing into pure shock.

Before he could even turn, Menma's hand was already on the back of his neck, five fingers splayed.

**MENMA**
**Lightning Rod!**

A devastating surge of raw lightning chakra, all the power Yoroi had just stolen and more, discharged directly into the Suna-nin's nervous system. There was no loud explosion, only a sickening, internal *CRACKLE* of energy and the smell of ozone and burnt flesh.

Yoroi's body went rigid, every muscle seizing at once. He didn't scream; he couldn't. He collapsed to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut, smoke curling from his joints, completely unconscious.

A stunned silence blanketed the arena.

Menma stood over him, chest heaving, the brief, brilliant lightning in his eyes fading. The tremendous, desperate output of chakra had been the final straw. The world tilted. His legs gave out, and he crumpled to the floor beside his defeated opponent, unconscious but victorious.

Hayate Gekko coughed into his hand, breaking the silence.

**HAYATE**
The winner... is Menma Uzumaki.

Medical-nin from both Suna and Konoha rushed into the arena, quickly attending to both combatants. The first preliminary match was over, a brutal demonstration of the fine line between victory and collapse.

 

**INT. TOWER - SPECTATOR BALCONY - DAY**

Menma was helped back to the balcony by a medical-nin, his body trembling from chakra exhaustion but his head held high. Shiruna immediately moved to his side, her voice a mixture of relief and pride.

**SHIRUNA**
That was too close, but well done, little brother.

Naruto didn't even glance their way. He remained impassive, staring down at the arena floor as if the entire event were beneath his notice.

Before the tension could settle, the chakra board flickered once more. The names tumbled and locked in place:

**TOKUBO (Suna) vs. DOSU (Oto)**

The two combatants made their way down. Tokubo carried himself with an air of inherent superiority, while Dosu moved with the silent, focused gait of a predator.

Hayate gave the signal.

Dosu struck first, his entire strategy built on overwhelming his opponent before they could adapt. He didn't move, simply raised his gauntleted arm.

**DOSU**
**Resonating Sound Wave!**

A distorted, invisible wave of sound shot across the arena. Tokubo grunted, clutching his ears as twin trickles of blood immediately began to run from them. The world became a muffled, painful roar. He was disoriented, staggering.

Dosu saw his opening. He charged in, his good arm pulled back for a sound-enhanced strike that would shatter bone.

**DOSU (CONT'D)**
It's over!

He thrust his palm forward. But instead of the thud of impact, there was a sharp, metallic *CRUNCH*, followed by a shower of sparks. The speaker on his gauntlet exploded, shattering the device and mangling his arm. Dosu cried out, stumbling back in pain and shock.

Tokubo slowly straightened up, wiping the blood from his ears with a sleeve. A cold, condescending smile spread across his face.

**TOKUBO**
You rely too much on your little toy. When you closed in for your first taijutsu combo, I used a simple Earth Release: Hiding Like a Mole technique to send a plug of compacted earth and sand into the resonator. It was only a matter of time before the pressure destroyed it from the inside.

He began walking slowly toward the crippled Dosu, who was clutching his ruined arm.

**TOKUBO (CONT'D)**
This was never a fight. It was a lesson. A prodigy from one of the Five Great Shinobi Nations was always destined to crush a lowlife from a backwater village like yours. Your ambition was your downfall.

With Dosu defenseless and disarmed, Hayate immediately stepped in.

**HAYATE**
Match over. The winner is Tokubo.

Tokubo didn't even wait for the formal announcement to turn his back and walk away, radiating pure, unadulterated arrogance.

As medical-nin attended to Dosu, the board flickered to life once more, its random selection indifferent to the drama that had just unfolded. The next names appeared, sending a fresh jolt through the spectators, particularly one team.

**KANKURO (Suna) vs. MISUMI TSURUGI (Oto)**

Kankuro’s eyes narrowed. Another Oto-nin. This was no coincidence. He exchanged a look with Temari, a silent understanding passing between them. Kabuto's teammates were being systematically targeted.

Without a word, Kankuro made his way downstairs, the puppet Karasu a comforting weight on his back. Across the arena, Misumi Tsurugi uncoiled himself, his body seeming to lengthen and loosen in a deeply unnatural way, a sinister grin on his face.

The stage was set for another clash of styles, and for Kankuro, a chance to prove his strength wasn't just a fluke born of rage.

 

**INT. TOWER - PRELIMINARY ARENA - DAY**

Kankuro stepped onto the arena floor, the weight of Karasu on his back feeling heavier than usual. Every muscle ached from the poison, the fight with Sasori, and the terrifying, uncontrolled surge of the curse mark. Opposite him, Misumi Tsurugi of Oto stretched his limbs, his body contorting with a fluid, boneless grace that was deeply unsettling. A confident, slimy smile was plastered on his face.

**MISUMI**
Tired already, puppet-boy? This will be over quickly.

Hayate gave the signal. Misumi shot forward, not with a run, but with an elongated, slithering lunge. His arm stretched like rubber, fist snapping toward Kankuro’s face.

Kankuro was slow, sluggish. He barely dodged, the wind of the blow brushing his cheek. He tried to create distance to deploy Karasu, but Misumi was relentless. His body was a weapon of unpredictable angles—legs elongating for sweeping kicks, arms coiling like whips. Kankuro was on the defensive, blocking and dodging, but taking sharp, stinging hits that sapped his already low energy.

In the spectator's gallery, the red-haired Oto jonin observed with cold calculation. *Misumi’s flexibility creates constant pressure. Exhausted as he is, the puppet boy has no chance... unless he taps into that dark power again.*

**KANKURO'S PERSPECTIVE**

The world was narrowing. Misumi’s twisting form was a blur. He managed to get Karasu into the fight, but the puppet’s movements were also slow, its attacks easily dodged or contorted around by Misumi’s pliable body. A wire trap meant to entangle was simply slipped out of. A poison blade was avoided with a spine-bending arch.

*I can't... keep this up,* Kankuro thought, his breath ragged.

Then, an opening. Misumi, overconfident, launched a straight, elongated punch. It was a simple, linear attack. Kankuro poured the last of his strength into a desperate uppercut, putting his whole body into it.

**THWACK!**

His fist connected solidly with Misumi’s jaw. The force, amplified by Misumi’s own forward momentum, sent the Oto-nin spinning upwards into the air.

In that frozen moment, as Misumi hung suspended, a memory flashed in Kankuro’s mind. Not of the forest, not of the curse mark. But of the hallway. Of Shira. Of the boy who had challenged him with sharp, precise taijutsu before the exams even began. Shira’s words echoed in his head: *"I needed to test my skills against someone of repute."*

This was the same. This was a test. And he wouldn't pass it with some unknown, cursed power. He would pass it with his own strength, honed by his own experiences.

As Misumi began to fall, Kankuro pushed off the ground, leaping into the air after him. He twisted his body, channeling all his remaining chakra and will into his leg.

He remembered Shira’s relentless assault. He remembered the need for a decisive, powerful blow.

**KANKURO**
**HA!**

A powerful, perfectly executed roundhouse kick slammed into Misumi’s gut. The air left Misumi’s lungs in a explosive gasp. His eyes bulged, and he folded around the point of impact before being slammed back down to the arena floor, where he lay motionless, curled in a heap.

Silence.

Kankuro landed unsteadily, bracing himself on his knees, sucking in deep, painful breaths.

Hayate Gekko stepped forward, checking on Misumi before raising a hand.

**HAYATE**
The winner... Kankuro.

A wave of relief so potent it felt like a physical force washed over Temari on the balcony. Gaara watched, his usual stoic expression betraying a hint of something akin to respect.

Kankuro had won. Not with a demon’s power, but with a rival’s lesson and his own stubborn will. He looked up toward the balcony where he knew his team was watching, and for the first time, allowed himself a small, genuine, exhausted smile of victory.

 

**INT. TOWER - SPECTATOR BALCONY - DAY**

From the high balcony, Shira had watched every second of Kankuro’s fight. His arms were crossed, his expression unreadable, but a cold ember of jealousy burned in his chest. As the medics carried Misumi away, Kankuro looked up, his gaze instinctively finding Shira’s in the crowd.

Their eyes locked.

*He used my move,* Shira thought, the realization a bitter pill. *That kick... the timing, the pivot... he saw it once, during our brief skirmish. I trained for months to perfect that combination, and he replicates it in a life-or-death situation after seeing it once.*

The sheer, raw talent was insulting. Kankuro wasn't just strong; he was a sponge, absorbing and adapting at a terrifying rate.

**INT. TOWER - ANTEROOM - CONTINUOUS**

Baki appeared in a silent shunshin behind Kankuro, his hand firm on his student’s shoulder.

**BAKI**
That’s enough for now. Come with me. We need to address that... mark. Now.

Kankuro flinched, startled by his sensei’s sudden appearance and the grim tone. “You... you know about it?”

**BAKI**
I am your jonin commander. It is my duty to know. Now, move.

In a swirl of wind, Baki vanished, taking Kankuro with him.

At almost the same moment, from the opposite side of the arena, the red-haired Oto jonin also dissolved into a faint mist, disappearing without a trace.

**INT. TOWER - SECLUDED CHAMBER - MOMENTS LATER**

Baki and Kankuro materialized in a small, dark, windowless stone room, likely a storage chamber deep within the tower’s foundation. The only light came from a single flickering torch.

Without a word of explanation, Baki bit his thumb and drew a complex, circular seal on the floor with his own blood. He pushed Kankuro to his knees in the center of it.

**KANKURO**
Sensei, what are you—

**BAKI**
Silence. Do not resist.

Baki’s hands flew through a series of rapid, unfamiliar hand signs. The blood seal on the floor glowed with a faint, crimson light. He pressed his palm against the ugly, purple bruise-like mark on Kankuro’s neck.

**BAKI (CONT'D)**
**Forbidden Seal: Temporary Binding!**

A searing pain, different from the poison’s chill, shot through Kankuro’s body. He gritted his teeth, seeing black spots dance in his vision. The purple mark seemed to writhe under Baki’s palm, fighting back against the crimson energy trying to contain it.

**BAKI (CONT'D)**
(Grunting with effort)
This seal is weak. A temporary measure. It can only hold the mark in place... if you let it. Your will must be the lock. If you succumb to fear or rage again, it will shatter.

The pain peaked, and Kankuro’s eyes rolled back. He slumped forward, unconscious, the new, blood-red seal now superimposed over the fading purple curse mark on his neck.

Baki stood, wiping his bloody hand on his pants, his breathing slightly labored. He looked down at his student, his face a mask of grim concern.

A soft, slow clapping echoed from the shadows in the corner.

**VOICE (O.S.)**
My, my. The Sand’s loyal wind master, practicing forbidden sealing jutsu. You’ve grown up, Baki.

From the darkness, the red-haired Oto jonin stepped into the torchlight. He smiled, a familiar, almost nostalgic expression on his face that seemed utterly out of place.

**BAKI**
(His voice a low, dangerous whisper, filled with a recognition that was decades old)
...It can’t be.

---

The torchlight in the small stone room seemed to shrink away from the Oto jonin as he smiled. Then, his features began to waver, not like a transformation jutsu, but like melting wax. The skin dissolved, not into blood and bone, but into fine, wood-dust and shimmering chakra threads. Beneath it was not the face of a man in his thirties, but that of a teenager with sharp features and calm, hollow eyes—the same face Baki had seen in old mission reports and village warnings.

**SASORI**
It’s been a long time, Baki. You were just a promising Chunin back then.

**BAKI**
(His voice tight with disbelief)
Sasori... How? You should be... you’re thirty-five. You look exactly as you did when you deserted.

Sasori’s smile was a small, cold thing.

**SASORI**
The human body is so... fleeting. It ages, it rots, it betrays. I have moved beyond such limitations. This is true art. A form that is eternal.

Baki’s mind raced, piecing together the horrifying implication. The legends of Sasori’s human puppets... had he turned his art upon himself?

**BAKI**
Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be watching the matches? Those are your subordinates.

**SASORI**
(He gave a dismissive wave)
Guinea pigs. Tools to be used and discarded. Their purpose was to test the waters, to apply pressure. To see what gems might reveal themselves under stress. Some investments require the sacrifice of lesser assets to gain a greater profit.

As he spoke, he took a slow, deliberate step forward.

Baki’s instincts screamed. In a flash of movement, his hand was enveloped in a screeching, visible blade of condensed wind. The Vacuum Blade hummed in the small space, scattering dust and making the torch flame gutter violently.

**BAKI**
Take one more step, and one of us dies in this room. I will not let you touch my student.

Sasori stopped. He didn't look threatened. He looked... amused. His hollow eyes drifted from Baki’s furious face down to the unconscious Kankuro, lingering on the boy, then on the puppet Karasu still strapped to his back.

**SASORI**
So protective. It’s touching, in a mundane way. But you misunderstand. I have no need to take him by force.

He took a step back, his form beginning to dissolve into the same sawdust and chakra threads from which it had appeared.

**SASORI (CONT'D)**
A puppet yearns for a master who understands its true potential. That boy carries the legacy of a slaughtered art. He fights with passion and talent, but he is lost. He will come to me. Seeking power, seeking answers... seeking a way to kill the man who destroyed his clan. He will seek me out himself.

His voice was now an echo in the dissolving cloud.

**SASORI (CONT'D)**
And on that day... I will be waiting.

With that, he was gone. The room was silent once more, save for the crackle of the torch and Baki’s ragged breaths. The wind blade around his hand dissipated. He looked down at Kankuro, the new blood seal stark on his neck, and felt a chill deeper than any desert night. The threat was no longer just to the exams, or to the village. It was a poison, carefully planted, waiting for the moment his student’s desperation would make him reach for it.

Chapter Text

**INT. TOWER - PRELIMINARY ARENA - DAY**

Baki had just vanished with Kankuro, leaving a palpable void in Team 5. The atmosphere in the arena remained charged as the next match was called.

The fourth preliminary match had been a brutal, one-sided affair. **Shiruna Uzumaki** of Konoha had faced **Oneone** of Suna. Oneone’s clever mirror traps and genjutsu, which had served her so well in the written exam, were utterly useless against Shiruna’s cold, analytical fighting style. Shiruna had dismantled her with effortless, almost bored precision.

Now, Oneone lay draped, half-conscious, over the horizontal bar of Shiruna’s extended combat pole, a humiliating display of total dominance.

**SHIRUNA**
(With a condescending sigh)
Adequate, for a sideshow act. But ultimately, pointless.

With a sharp flick of her wrist, she unceremoniously dumped Oneone from the pole. The Suna kunoichi plummeted, her trajectory sending her straight down toward the scattered, sharpened shuriken and kunai she herself had thrown and missed during the fight.

A blur of motion.

**Shira** shot from the spectator’s balcony, not even using the stairs. He landed in a crouch on the arena floor, Oneone safely cradled in his arms before she could be impaled. He set her down gently, his usual cold composure cracked, replaced by a simmering fury. He looked up at Shiruna, his eyes like chips of ice.

**SHIRA**
That was unnecessary. The match was already over.

**SHIRUNA**
(A mocking smile playing on her lips)
Was it? I was just clearing the arena. Perhaps Suna shinobi should learn to land on their own feet.

Shira’s hands clenched, his bandages beginning to unwrap. The air grew thick. He took a step forward, ready to challenge her right there.

But a calm, firm hand landed on his shoulder. It was **Yashamaru**.

**YASHAMARU**
That’s enough, Shira. The proctor has called the match. Stand down.

From the balcony above, a voice dripping with bored contempt cut through the tension. It was **Naruto**.

**NARUTO**
Hey, Shiruna...Stop bickering with that grey-haired clown and his *spineless* mentor. We have better things to do.

The word "spineless" echoed in the sudden silence.

Every eye in the tower turned toward Naruto, then toward Yashamaru. Shira’s glare shifted from Shiruna to Naruto, a new, more personal hatred burning in his eyes.

Yashamaru’s grip on Shira’s shoulder tightened, a silent command to endure. His own expression remained gentle, but a deep sadness flickered in his eyes at the unwarranted insult.

But the most violent reaction was unseen by most.

**Gaara**, who had been watching the proceedings with detached interest, went completely still. His knuckles, resting on the balcony railing, turned white. The sand in his gourd began to stir, emitting a low, grinding hiss. He didn’t look at Naruto. His burning, emerald-eyed gaze was fixed on the back of Yashamaru’s head—the man who had taken a shuriken for him, the only person who had ever shown him kindness.

*Spineless?*

The word was a blasphemy. A profound, personal insult that cut deeper than any threat against himself. The air around Gaara grew cold and heavy. It took every ounce of his will, every memory of Yashamaru’s gentle smile, to force the sand to settle and keep the beast within from roaring to the surface. He barely controlled himself, but the promise of a future reckoning with Naruto Uzumaki was now etched into his mind, absolute and unforgiving.

Hayate Gekko coughed, breaking the deadly silence as medical-nin attended to Oneone.

**HAYATE**
The winner is Shiruna Uzumaki. The next combatants, please prepare.

But the real battle was no longer on the arena floor. It was now a silent war of glares and promises, stretching from the Konoha balcony to the heart of the Sand team.

 

**INT. TOWER - SPECTATOR BALCONY - DAY**

A subtle shift in the air announced Baki’s return. He materialized beside Temari and Gaara, his expression grim but controlled.

**TEMARI**
(Her voice low and urgent)
Sensei? Is Kankuro…?

**BAKI**
He is stable. He needs rest. The medical-nin are with him.

He didn't elaborate, but the unspoken weight of what had happened with Sasori hung between them. His gaze then fell on Gaara, a silent message passing between them: *Your turn is coming. Be ready.*

As if on cue, the chakra board flickered back to life, its random selection indifferent to the drama unfolding around it. The characters tumbled and locked into place for the fifth match:

**GARA (Suna) vs. ZAKU (Oto)**

A murmur rippled through the spectators. All eyes turned to the Oto genin, whose arms were heavily bandaged and splinted, held in slings across his chest. Then, all eyes shifted to Gaara.

Without a word, Gaara turned and began his slow, deliberate walk down to the arena floor. Each step was measured, the sand in his gourd shifting with a soft, gritty whisper. His mind was a storm of conflicting impulses. He needed to win. He had to prove himself to Baki, to his teammates, and most importantly, to Yashamaru—to show that their faith, their protection, was not misplaced. This was his path to becoming Kazekage.

But as he reached the arena floor and faced Zaku, who stood with a pained but defiant sneer, a unfamiliar feeling twisted in his gut: guilt. This wasn't a fight. This was an execution. How could a victory over a crippled opponent prove anything?

Hayate Gekko looked between them, his expression weary. "Are both combatants ready?"

Gaara ignored the proctor. His emerald eyes, cold and direct, fixed on Zaku.

**GAARA**
Your arms are broken. Forfeit. There is no honor in this.

Zaku let out a wheezing, ugly laugh, the effort clearly causing him pain.

**ZAKU**
Forfeit? You think I need my arms to crush a pipsqueak like you? I'll blow you away with my breath alone! I'm not like that coward Dosu! I'll show you the true power of Otogakure!

He widened his stance, his body trembling slightly from pain and adrenaline. He sucked in a deep, ragged breath, his chakra flaring weakly around his mouth.

Gaara simply stared, his expression unchanging. The sand from his gourd began to seep out, pooling around his feet like a loyal, shifting shadow. He had offered mercy. It had been refused. Now, there was only the mission. He would prove his strength, not for the spectacle, but for the people waiting for him upstairs. For Yashamaru.

The air grew still, heavy with the promise of a swift and brutal end.

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

Chapter Text

**INT. TOWER - SPECTATOR BALCONY - DAY**

Temari’s breath hitched. Seeing Zaku on the arena floor, his arms bound in thick bandages, sent a cold shiver down her spine. The image flashed in her mind: Kankuro, his face a grotesque mask of purple, moving with feral, unnatural speed. The sound of Zaku’s arms breaking—two sickening *crunches*—echoed in her memory. She gripped the railing tightly, her knuckles white.

Beside the Oto team’s section, Kin watched with a smirk of grim satisfaction.

**KIN** (thinking to herself)
He did it. He pushed through the pain. That Sand brat is finished. Zaku will blow him away.

Down in the arena, Gaara closed the distance with a direct, almost naive charge. It was a straightforward approach, testing his opponent.

Zaku didn’t retreat. With a guttural roar of agony and triumph, he violently ripped his left arm from its sling, the splints cracking. His face was a twisted grimace of pain and fury as he thrust the damaged limb forward.

**ZAKU**
**DIE! Decapitating Airwaves!**

It wasn't the full, focused blast he was known for—his shattered arm couldn't channel the chakra properly—but it was enough. A violent, uncontrolled torrent of compressed air erupted from his palm, a wide, destructive cone that filled the space between them.

The blast caught Gaara head-on.

He was lifted off his feet and thrown backward like a discarded ragdoll. He crashed onto the hard stone floor with a sickening thud and tumbled several times before lying still, face down, in a cloud of dust.

A collective gasp, then silence.

Shira, who had been watching with analytical interest, let out a soft, disappointed sigh. He had heard whispers about this Gaara, the boy with the sand. To see him defeated so easily, by a crippled opponent no less, was… underwhelming.

**KIN** (smirking wider)
I knew it.

Zaku, breathing in ragged, pained gulps, lowered his trembling arm. A triumphant, bloody smile spread across his face. He began to turn, to walk away, to claim his victory.

Hayate Gekko stepped forward, ready to call the match.

But then, a movement.

A faint stirring in the dust.

Gaara’s fingers twitched. Then, his hands pressed flat against the stone. Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself up. He rose to his knees, then to his feet, his body swaying for a moment before steadying.

His clothes were torn. A bruise was already darkening on his cheek. But his eyes… his eyes burned with a defiant, unwavering fire. The sand from his gourd, which had been inert, now swirled around his ankles protectively.

He hadn't been protected by Shukaku's power. He had taken the hit. And he had gotten back up.

Zaku froze mid-step, his triumphant smile melting into stunned disbelief. The arena was utterly silent, save for Gaara’s ragged but steady breathing.

The fight was not over.

 

The arena was silent, holding its breath. Gaara stood, bruised but unbroken, his eyes locked on Zaku. The sand whispered around his feet, but it felt distant, sluggish.

*Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!*

Gaara’s arm snapped forward, sending a volley of shuriken cutting through the air. It was a basic, genin-level attack.

Zaku, despite his pain, sneered. He swung his good-but-broken arm, the motion creating a weak but sufficient gust of wind that deflected the shuriken with a series of sharp *pings*.

Seeing an opening, Gaara lunged, a kunai gleaming in his hand. He was fast, but his movements were linear, predictable.

**ZAKU**
**You never learn!**

Another pained roar, another blast of chaotic air. The force slammed into Gaara, throwing him back once more. He skidded across the stone, the kunai clattering from his grip.

He got up again. And again, he threw another kunai. Again, Zaku deflected it.

A cold frustration began to boil in Gaara’s chest. This was wrong. In moments of true danger, when his back was against the wall, he could always feel *it*—a deep, resonant power rising from his gut, the sand reacting to his desperation as if it were a living part of him. But now… there was nothing. Just a hollow, numb feeling where that power should be.

Then, the memory surfaced, sharp and clear. The Grass kunoichi in the forest. Her fingers, glowing with black chakra, pressing against the small of his back. The words echoed in his mind: *"Five Elements Seal."*

*That’s it,* he realized, a cold clarity cutting through the frustration. *She didn’t just knock me out. She cut me off from my power. She nerfed me.*

He was fighting with one hand tied behind his back. No. He was fighting without the beast in the cage. For the first time, he was truly alone in a fight.

A new resolve hardened in his eyes. If he couldn’t rely on that power, he would have to rely on something else. His mind.

He watched Zaku carefully. The Oto-nin was tiring, each blast of air costing him dearly, his face pale with agony. More importantly, there was a pattern. After each blast, there was a fraction of a second where Zaku’s stance wavered, his focus broken by the recoil of his own painful technique.

Gaara’s hand went to his pouch. *One last throw.*

***Shing!*** A single shuriken flew.

As expected, Zaku swung his arm, deflecting it with a grunt. His body was turned, his balance slightly off, his attention on the deflected weapon.

This was the opening.

Gaara was already moving. He didn’t lunge with a weapon. He poured every ounce of his speed and strength into a raw, physical charge. He closed the distance in a heartbeat, his fist pulled back.

Zaku’s eyes widened, but he was too slow, too pained to react.

**GAARA**
**HAAH!**

Gaara’s fist connected solidly with Zaku’s jaw.

It wasn’t a superhuman blow. It wasn’t enhanced by chakra or demonic power. It was just a punch, thrown by a determined, stubborn boy.

But it was enough.

Zaku’s head snapped back. He stumbled, crying out in fresh pain, but he didn’t fall. He swayed, his eyes glazed, but he remained standing, his hatred alone keeping him upright.

The two combatants stood facing each other, both battered, both breathing heavily. One powered by rage and pain, the other by sheer, unyielding will.

The dynamic of the fight had shifted completely.

 

From the balcony, Temari’s eyes widened. This wasn’t the Gaara she knew—the one who either relied on his terrifying sand or brute frustration. This was calculated. He was analyzing, adapting, and exploiting patterns. A cold, tactical intelligence was at work that she had never seen in the academy’s so-called "laughingstock."

Down in the arena, Gaara’s eyes darted to the kunai that had been knocked from his grip earlier, lying several feet away. It was his only weapon. He feinted left, then darted for it.

**ZAKU**
Not a chance!

Zaku lunged, not with a wind blast, but with a clumsy, pain-filled kick, trying to intercept Gaara or knock the weapon away. His movements were sloppy, driven by pure adrenaline. Gaara, lighter and more agile, dove, his fingers closing around the kunai’s hilt just as Zaku’s foot swept through the space where his head had been.

Gaara rolled back to his feet, quickly creating distance. He held the kunai firmly. His mind raced. *He’ll expect me to throw it again. He’ll try to deflect. But after being hit last time, he might try to dodge instead. If he dodges, I close in. If he deflects, I have my opening.*

It was a simple plan, but it was *his* plan.

He threw the kunai.

As predicted, Zaku didn’t dodge. With a snarled curse, he swung his left arm, the splints cracking further as he generated another weak gust to bat the projectile aside.

This was it. The opening. Gaara poured on his speed, charging in for another decisive strike.

But Zaku’s face twisted into a grotesque mask of triumph.

**ZAKU**
**YOU FELL FOR IT!**

As his left arm was still completing the deflecting motion, his right arm—the one that had been utterly shattered and held immobile in its sling—jerked violently. He screamed in agony, tears streaming from his eyes, but he pushed through. A final, desperate, and surprisingly powerful blast of air erupted from his right palm point-blank.

It was a suicidal move. The recoil and the strain on his destroyed limb were catastrophic.

The blast hit Gaara like a runaway cart. He was thrown backward, the air driven from his lungs. He crashed against the arena wall with a sickening thud and slid to the floor, a cloud of dust rising around him. He lay there, battered, bruised, and motionless.

Zaku stood panting, his right arm hanging at a grotesque, unnatural angle, clearly broken beyond any hope of quick repair. But he was laughing, a wet, hysterical sound.

**ZAKU**
(Wheezing)
See?! See?! I told you! I told you I’d blow you away!

The arena was silent. It was over.

Then, the dust settled.

A figure stirred.

With a slow, grinding effort that spoke of pure, unadulterated stubbornness, Gaara pushed himself up. He used the wall for support, his body screaming in protest. Blood trickled from a cut on his forehead, and one of his eyes was already swelling shut. But the other eye, a blazing emerald green, fixed on Zaku with an intensity that made the Oto-nin’s laughter die in his throat.

**GAARA**
(Voice raspy but clear, cutting through the silence)
Don’t... underestimate me!

He stood on his own two feet, swaying but unyielding. The sand around his feet, which had been sluggish before, now began to stir more actively, responding not to a demon’s power, but to the sheer, indomitable force of its master’s will.

The fight was far from over.

Zaku’s hysterical laughter cut off, replaced by a low, confident chuckle. He straightened up, the pained grimace melting from his face into a smug sneer. With deliberate, unhurried movements, he ripped the slings and bandages from his arms. The splints fell to the floor with a clatter, revealing limbs that were bruised, but clearly whole and functional.

**ZAKU**
You really are an idiot. You and your freak teammate. My arms were healed hours ago by a... benefactor. The whole 'cripple' act was just to make you let your guard down.

Gaara’s eyes widened, a rare flicker of genuine fear piercing his resolve. He had expended so much energy, taken so much damage, against an opponent who was at full strength.

But fear was a luxury he couldn't afford. He braced himself, his mind scrambling. The sand at his feet churned violently, gathering, compressing, and morphing into a large, spinning Shuriken of solid sand.

**ZAKU**
(A wide, nasty grin)
Too slow!

Before Gaara could even throw the shuriken, Zaku crossed his arms in an "X" over his chest. This time, the chakra glow was bright and controlled, the air around his palms shimmering with concentrated power.

**ZAKU (CONT'D)**
**Extreme Decapitating Airwaves!**

A colossal, visible vortex of compressed air, far more powerful than anything he'd used before, erupted forth. It tore across the arena, not as a cone, but as a focused, drilling pillar of destruction. It hit the sand shuriken head-on, obliterating it into a cloud of dust and swallowing Gaara whole.

The force was immense, shaking the very foundations of the tower. The spectators shielded their eyes from the flying debris.

When the dust settled, Gaara lay sprawled on the ground, unmoving. The sand shuriken was gone. He appeared utterly defeated.

Zaku lowered his arms, his grin triumphant. "Pathetic."

But then, the Gaara on the ground began to distort, his form softening and losing color. With a soft *poof*, it dissolved into a pile of ordinary, inert sand.

A Sand Clone.

***CRACK!***

The stone floor directly beneath Zaku exploded upwards. The real Gaara, having burrowed underground using the sand, erupted from the debris. He put his entire body weight into a savage uppercut that connected squarely with Zaku's chin.

***THWACK!***

The sound echoed through the silent arena. Zaku was lifted off his feet and thrown backward, landing hard on his back. He groaned, spitting blood, and shakily pushed himself to his feet, his eyes blazing with fury and humiliation.

**ZAKU**
You little...!

Enraged, he snatched a kunai from his pouch and lunged at Gaara in a blind fury. Gaara, still disoriented from his subterranean maneuver, couldn't fully dodge. The blade sank deep into his shoulder.

A grunt of pain escaped Gaara's lips. But instead of recoiling, his free hand shot out, clamping like a vice around Zaku's wrist. Ignoring the searing agony in his shoulder, he used Zaku's own momentum, twisting and heaving, to throw the Oto-nin bodily across the arena.

Zaku skidded to a halt near the opposite wall, scrambling back to his feet.

Both combatants now stood, panting heavily, staring each other down across the battered arena floor. Blood dripped from Gaara's shoulder, staining his sleeve. Zaku wiped blood from his split lip, his chest heaving. The deception was over. The real fight had just begun.

 

Zaku pushed off the wall with a raw scream of fury, charging at Gaara once more. His palms glowed, ready to unleash another point-blank blast that would end this.

Gaara stood his ground, his breathing steadying. The fear was gone, replaced by a cold, focused certainty.

**GAARA**
It's time to end this.

**ZAKU**
(Mocking, in a high-pitched tone)
"It'S tImE tO eNd ThIs!" Shut up!

As Zaku closed the final few feet, Gaara’s hands flew together in a single, sharp hand sign.

**GAARA**
**Sand Clone Jutsu!**

But he couldn't create clones around him. Instead, a protective shell of sand burst from his own body like a sudden explosion, a defensive nova meant to shove the attacker back.

Zaku, too committed to stop, plowed directly into it. The sand wasn't hard enough to injure him significantly, but it was pervasive. A thick, gritty wave of it splashed over his hands, clogging the finely-tuned chakra holes in his palms before he could fire his technique.

For a split second, nothing happened. Then, Zaku’s eyes widened in dawning, absolute horror. He looked down at his palms, now caked solid with sand.

**ZAKU**
Wha—? My holes! They're... blocked!

A searing, unnatural pain shot up his arms. The chakra, with nowhere to vent, was recoiling back into his system. It wasn't part of Gaara's plan, but it was a devastating, accidental side-effect.

Gaara saw his chance. This was the opening.

**GAARA**
**Now.**

Six figures of solid sand erupted from the ground around Zaku. Before he could even react, all six Sand Clones launched a synchronized, brutal kick to his torso.

**ZAKU**
**URK!**

The air left his lungs as he was launched vertically into the air. Before gravity could take hold, the clones leaped after him. In mid-air, they spun, delivering another devastating series of kicks that kept him aloft, a puppet on invisible strings of pain.

The clones dissolved back into sand.

Gaara, the real one, was already there, dropping down from above Zaku's peak altitude. He swung his arm down in a mighty, final arc, his hand flat like a blade.

***SMACK!***

The sound of the sand-enhanced smackdown was brutal and final. Zaku was driven straight down into the arena floor back-first, the stone cracking under the impact. He didn't move.

A thick silence blanketed the tower.

Gaara landed lightly a few feet away, his shoulders rising and falling with deep breaths. The sand slowly retreated back into his gourd. He stood over his defeated opponent, his one good eye fixed on Zaku's still form.

Hayate Gekko stepped forward, checked Zaku, then raised his hand.

**HAYATE**
The winner is Gaara of the Desert.

There were no cheers, only a stunned, respectful silence. Gaara had won. Not with the One-Tail's rage, but with his own cunning, his own endurance, and his own sand.

He looked up at the balcony, his gaze finding Baki, then Temari, and finally, Yashamaru. He had proven himself. For them.

The stunned silence in the wake of Gaara's victory was broken by a single, sharp sound.

**TEMARI**
Yes!

The word burst from her lips before she could stop it. She quickly composed herself, crossing her arms and looking away with a faint flush on her cheeks, but the rare, genuine support had been unmistakable. Beside her, Baki let out a long, slow breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly. His most volatile student had not only won but had done so with a level of control and strategy that defied all expectations.

Across the balcony, the reactions were more measured but equally telling.

**MENMA**
(His arms crossed, a slight nod of acknowledgment)
Hn. Not completely useless, that sand kid. He can take a hit.

Naruto said nothing. His impassive mask remained, but his bright blue eyes were narrowed, fixed on Gaara with a spark of analytical curiosity rather than his usual bored contempt. He had seen the sand, the clones, the sheer stubbornness. This one was different from the other cannon fodder.

Near the Oto section, Kin could only watch in bitter disappointment as the medics carefully lifted Zaku's broken form onto a stretcher. With Dosu and Zaku both defeated, she was now the last one standing from Team Dosu, a solitary and vulnerable figure.

On the Suna side, Yashamaru allowed a warm, proud smile to grace his features as he watched Gaara walk steadily from the arena. The stories he knew, the lonely boy he had tried to guide, was forging his own path before his eyes.

Beside him, Shira let out a quiet, thoughtful breath.

**SHIRA**
(Muttering to himself)
So the stories you told me weren't just pity, Yashamaru-sensei. He really is... something else.

He had witnessed Gaara's resilience firsthand. The stories of a monster were being slowly overwritten by the evidence of a determined, and now victorious, shinobi.

Tokubo, however, remained utterly silent, his expression unreadable. He offered no praise, no criticism. He simply observed, storing the information away, his thoughts his own.

As Gaara rejoined his team on the balcony, the air shifted. He was no longer just the strange, feared Jinchuriki. He was a competitor who had earned his place in the next round through grit and skill. The preliminary matches were not yet over, but Gaara of the Desert had just announced his arrival as a genuine contender.

Chapter Text

**INT. TOWER - PRELIMINARY ARENA - DAY**

The low hum of chatter following Gaara’s victory was cut short as the chakra board flickered once more, its indifferent lottery deciding the next pair of combatants. The characters solidified, drawing every eye in the tower:

**NARUTO (Konoha) vs. SHIRA (Suna)**

A new, electric tension filled the air. Naruto, with a bored sigh, vaulted over the balcony railing and landed lightly on the arena floor below, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Shira, in contrast, descended the stairs with a silent, deliberate grace, his bandaged arms the only hint of the weapon he carried.

From the Konoha balcony, Menma Uzumaki watched with a confident, almost dismissive air.

**MENMA**
(To Shiruna)
This’ll be over fast. Naruto’s never going to lose to some no-name from the desert.

His voice carried, easily overheard by those nearby.

Gaara, now having his wounded arm bandaged by a medic-nin at the edge of the arena, heard Menma’s boast. He didn’t look up, but his thoughts were clear. *He’s wrong.* His mind flashed back to the brief, intense skirmish between Shira and Kankuro before the exams. He remembered the sight of Shira’s hands when the bandages had shifted—the latticework of old bruises, the calluses, the story of relentless, punishing training etched into his skin. Shira wasn’t just a name; he was a honed edge. *He’s different.*

Near the Suna contingent, Yashamaru watched his student take his position, a faint crease of worry on his brow.

**YASHAMARU**
(To himself, softly)
I would not be so quick to underestimate him, if I were in that Naruto’s place. Arrogance is a heavier burden than any bandage.

Down in the arena, Hayate Gekko stood between them, his gaze shifting from one to the other.

**HAYATE**
Are both combatants ready?

Naruto finally pulled his hands from his pockets, a wide, unsettling grin spreading across his face.

**NARUTO**
Ready to send this sand-fly back to the dune he crawled out from.

Shira didn’t respond. He simply stared, his grey eyes cool and focused, his hands coming up as his bandages began to unwrap, coiling around his arms like living serpents. The air grew still, the silence somehow louder than any boast.

The match between the impassive storm of Konoha and the silent, unyielding desert was about to begin.

 

**INT. TOWER - PRELIMINARY ARENA - DAY**

The fight began not with a bang, but with a whisper of motion. Shira shot forward, a grey blur of controlled aggression. His taijutsu was a storm of precise, powerful strikes—high kicks, low sweeps, and whip-fast jabs with his bandage-wrapped fists.

Naruto didn't block. He didn't parry. He simply… moved. With an almost lazy, insulting ease, he flowed around every attack. A slight tilt of his head dodged a fist, a casual step back avoided a sweeping kick. His hands remained in his pockets, his expression one of utter boredom. Minutes passed, and Shira had failed to land a single, solid hit.

Frustration began to crack the ice of Shira's composure. With a grunt, he disengaged, leaping back to create distance. His hands went to the heavy, dark bands strapped to his shoulders under his shirt. With two sharp *clicks*, he unlatched them.

**SHIRUNA**
(From the balcony, scoffing)
Taking off a little weight isn't going to close that gap.

Shira didn't respond. He simply let the weights drop.

They didn't just fall. They ***slammed*** into the stone floor.

***KA-BOOM!***

The impact was colossal. The entire tower seemed to shudder. Two small, deep craters spider-webbed with fractures marked where the weights had landed. A wave of dust and debris washed outwards. The arrogant smirk vanished from Shiruna's face. Menma's eyes widened slightly. Naruto’s bored expression finally shifted to one of mild, curious interest.

**[FLASHBACK - SUNGAKURE ACADEMY - 4 YEARS AGO]**

A nine-year-old Shira stood in the training yard, his face red with effort and humiliation. Before him, a simple log remained unscathed. Around him, other children effortlessly produced puffs of smoke for the Clone Jutsu or small fireballs for the Fire Release practice.

**ACADEMY STUDENT #1**
(Laughing)
Give it up, Shira! You can't even make a single clone!

**ACADEMY STUDENT #2**
All he's good for is kicking things. He's not a real ninja.

Yashamaru, then an academy instructor, watched from the sidelines. His eyes weren't on the prodigies, but on the boy who, after everyone had left, would stay behind, kicking the same training post until his feet were bloody. He saw the boy who, at eleven, could deliver two hundred consecutive kicks without breaking form. He saw not a lack of talent, but a channeling of all talent into a single, desperate focus.

One evening, he found Shira alone, still practicing.

**YASHAMARU**
(Softly)
You push your body harder than anyone I have ever taught, Shira.

**YOUNG SHIRA**
(Not stopping, voice strained)
It's not enough. It's never enough. I'm still behind.

**YASHAMARU**
Hard work is a powerful force. But no matter how much effort you put in, you will never reach the success you seek… if you do not first believe in the person doing the work. You must believe in yourself.

**[END FLASHBACK]**

The dust in the arena settled. Shira stood taller now, his posture lighter, the air around him humming with a new, terrifying potential. The weights had not been holding back his strength; they had been containing his speed.

He looked across at Naruto, his grey eyes now blazing with a cold, absolute certainty. All the years of being overlooked, all the bloody knuckles and bruised feet, all the silent hours of training—they crystallized in this single moment.

**SHIRA**
(Voice low, but carrying to every corner of the silent tower)
Let's see if talent can keep up with hard work.

 

**INT. TOWER - PRELIMINARY ARENA - DAY**

Shira became a phantom.

The moment his weights hit the floor, he vanished. Not in a shunshin of smoke and leaves, but in a pure, physical blur of motion that tore a trench in the arena floor. He was in front of Naruto before the sound of his movement had even faded.

Naruto’s eyes, previously bored, snapped wide with genuine shock. He barely managed to twist his head, the wind of Shira’s fist whistling past his ear.

**TEMARI**
(From the balcony, stunned)
His speed...! But why only taijutsu? He hasn't used a single ninjutsu!

**BAKI**
(His voice low and factual)
It’s all he can do.

Temari stared at her sensei, disbelief on her face.

**YASHAMARU**
(Quietly, from nearby)
Shira possesses no talent for ninjutsu or genjutsu. His chakra control is... non-existent for anything other than enhancing his physical abilities.

**[FLASHBACK - ONE YEAR AGO]**

A 13-year-old Shira stood with 14-year-olds Tokubo and Oneone, newly formed as Team 6. Yashamaru, their newly assigned Jonin leader, smiled warmly at them.

**YASHAMARU**
It is good to meet you all. To begin, tell me of your goals as shinobi.

**ONEONE**
(Confidently)
I will master genjutsu and become a strong kunoichi like Lady Chiyo!

**TOKUBO**
(Shifting uncomfortably)
I... don't know yet.

**SHIRA**
(His voice firm, his gaze intense)
I will prove that a shinobi can be successful using only taijutsu.

Tokubo couldn't hold back a derisive smirk.

**TOKUBO**
"Only taijutsu"? Is that really all you can do? Face it, Shira. If that's your only tool, you're not destined to succeed. It's just the way it is.

**[END FLASHBACK]**

Back in the arena, Naruto was a leaf in a hurricane, but a leaf that refused to be torn. He dodged, he deflected with his forearms, he bent his body in impossible ways to avoid the onslaught. But the speed was too much. A fist, wrapped in stark white bandages, finally broke through his defense and connected solidly with his jaw.

***CRACK!***

Naruto’s head snapped to the side. He staggered back a step, a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. He slowly turned his head back, and a wide, unnerving smile split his face. The hit that would have knocked out any other genin seemed to have only amused him.

**NARUTO**
Is that all you got?

On the Konoha balcony, Shiruna and Menma exchanged a worried glance. That smile was never a good sign.

**NARUTO**
**Multi Shadow Clone Jutsu!**

*Poof! Poof! Poof!* Thirty Narutos filled the arena in a cloud of smoke, their identical, grinning faces surrounding the exhausted Shira.

But Shira didn't falter. He became a vortex of destruction. He moved through the clones not like a fighter, but like a scythe through wheat. A spinning kick erased three. A flurry of palm strikes dispelled five more. He was a master of a single, devastating art, and he wielded it with flawless, desperate precision.

In the heart of the chaos, he found the real Naruto. A powerful kick to the chest sent Naruto airborne. As he flew back, Shira’s bandages shot out like striking cobras, wrapping around Naruto’s torso and limbs in a complex, constricting bind—the **Primary Water Lily**.

**SHIRA**
**HAAH!**

With a final, monumental heave, he slammed Naruto into the stone floor. The impact was thunderous, the dust blooming outwards in a ring.

Silence.

The clones vanished. Shira stood panting, drenched in sweat, his body screaming from the exertion. He had given everything.

On the balcony, Shiruna and Menma were on their feet, faces pale with shock and fear. "Naruto!" Shiruna cried out.

Then, a movement in the crater.

Naruto pushed himself up. He was bruised, his clothes torn, but he was standing. On his forehead, a bubble of volatile, bubbling orange chakra flickered for a split second—a brief, terrifying leak of power—before fading away as if it had never been.

He looked at the exhausted Shira, his earlier grin gone, replaced by a flat, predatory stare.

The fight was not over.

 

**INT. TOWER - PRELIMINARY ARENA - DAY**

A stunned silence gripped the tower, broken only by Gaara’s low, confused mutter.

**GAARA**
What… what was that? A bubble of chakra?

On the Konoha balcony, Menma’s voice was tight, a mix of pride and deep concern.

**MENMA**
It’s an ability he has. He can instantaneously focus a shield of raw chakra to any point of impact. It’s why he can take hits that would shatter bone.

But the explanation did little to ease the growing tension. All eyes were locked on Naruto. His grin was gone, his expression flat and chillingly empty. And his teeth… they were visibly sharper, like a predator’s. His eyes hadn’t changed yet, but the transformation had clearly begun. Shiruna and Menma shared another worried look. The further this exam went, the thinner Naruto’s control over the thing inside him became.

Naruto charged.

The dynamic of the fight flipped entirely. Shira, who had been a whirlwind of offense, was now on the defensive, his body leaden from the immense chakra cost of the Primary Water Lily. He was exhausted, moving on sheer instinct, barely dodging Naruto’s relentless, powerful strikes.

He knew he had one path left. A path Yashamaru had warned him never to walk.

He stopped retreating. He planted his feet, closed his eyes, and took a deep, shuddering breath. A faint, visible blue aura flickered to life around his body.

On the balcony, Baki’s eyes widened in recognition and horror. He spun to face Yashamaru.

**BAKI**
Yashamaru… that’s not… you didn’t!

**YASHAMARU**
(His voice calm, but with an edge of defiance)
That’s right. I taught him the "Seven Heavenly Breaths."

**TEMARI**
What is that? A kinjutsu?

**BAKI**
(Grimly)
It’s a forbidden taijutsu. It forcibly unlocks the body’s limits through seven stages, or 'breaths.' Each breath multiplies the user’s physical abilities, but each one carries a severe side effect. The seventh breath… results in certain death.

He turned his furious gaze back to Yashamaru.

**BAKI (CONT'D)**
Why would you teach a genin something like that?!

**YASHAMARU**
(Snapping, his gentle facade cracking for the first time)
He is my student! He came to me with nothing but a body he had honed into a weapon and a will of iron! I taught him a technique worthy of that will! It was his choice to learn it!

Down in the arena, as they argued, Shira took the **Second Breath**.

His body shuddered. The blue aura solidified, burning brighter. His grey eyes flew open—but his pupils had vanished, leaving only two pools of solid, eerie white.

Naruto, sensing the dangerous shift in energy, lunged forward to stop whatever was happening. But he was repelled as if hitting an invisible wall. The sheer pressure of the chakra radiating from Shira was now a physical barrier.

Shira took the **Third Breath**.

A guttural roar was torn from his throat. The blue aura violently shifted to a blazing, solar yellow. The stones at his feet began to crack under the pressure.

The **Fourth Breath** followed.

His skin flushed a deep, alarming crimson, as if all the blood in his body had rushed to the surface. Steam began to rise from his overheated muscles.

Then, the **Fifth Breath**.

A horrific network of veins bulged out all over his body, pulsing with yellow chakra, looking like cracks in a overheating engine. The air around him distorted with the heat and power.

Baki stared, his professional composure shattered.

**BAKI**
He reached the Fifth Breath…? That’s… impossible for a genin…

Shira stood transformed, no longer a boy, but a vessel of pure, self-destructive power. He fixed his sightless white eyes on Naruto. The final, devastating attack was coming.

 

Shira moved.

It wasn't speed. It was eradication of space. One moment he was across the arena, a pulsating monument of pain and power. The next, he was in front of Naruto. There was no transition.

**NARUTO** (Thinking, a flicker of primal fear)
He's not human!!

What followed wasn't a fight; it was a demolition. Shira became a force of nature, using Naruto's body as a plaything. He struck him into the air, and before gravity could exert its pull, Shira was already there, striking him again, and again, and again. The sound was a sickening series of impacts—a brutal, mid-air ping-pong match where Naruto was the ball. Tokubo watched, his arrogant smirk long gone, replaced by pure, unadulterated shock.

*Is he watching?* Shira thought, his mind a singular, white-hot point of focus amidst the self-inflicted agony. *Is Tokubo seeing this?*

With Naruto at the apex of the final launch, Shira’s bandages, now infused with his yellow chakra, shot out. They didn't just wrap; they *constricted*, forming the complex, flower-like pattern of the **Hidden Water Lily**, a technique far more brutal than the Primary.

He swung Naruto down towards the earth with the force of a meteor.

Inside Naruto’s mind, in a cage of rusted bars and deep water, two massive, slitted red eyes snapped open. A growl that was not a sound but a vibration shook the very foundation of his consciousness.

***CRACK!***

Naruto’s body cratered the arena floor. The impact was seismic. Shira landed a distance away, his body convulsing as the Five Breaths violently left him. His skin paled from crimson to a deathly white, his bulging veins receded leaving behind spiderwebs of burst capillaries, and he collapsed to one knee, vomiting blood. The side effects were ravaging him from the inside out.

Silence.

Then, a shift in the rubble.

Naruto pushed himself up. He was conscious. His body was shrouded in a flickering, full-body cloak of bubbling orange chakra before it faded, having absorbed the entirety of the devastating impact. He wasn't just unhurt; he was energized.

Shira looked up, his vision blurry, his body broken. He saw Naruto, standing tall. He saw Naruto’s arm extend, and from it, a massive, clawed arm of pure orange chakra materialized.

*No... not only is he not hurt... he's... he's preparing a jutsu?*

Desperately, Shira tried to move, to crawl away, but his body, spent and broken, wouldn't obey. The chakra arm shot forward. It was not fast, but it was inevitable. It wrapped around Shira’s torso and *squeezed*.

**SNAP.**

The sound of cracking ribs echoed in the silent tower. Tokubo screamed, a raw, terrified sound. "SHIRA!"

Naruto let the chakra arm dissipate. Shira lay in a broken heap, barely conscious. Naruto then began to walk toward him, his footsteps echoing. His eyes were still blue, but the murderous intent radiating from him was a physical wave of hatred.

He was going to finish it.

A blur of white and blue. **Yashamaru** landed between them, his back to Shira, his arms spread wide, facing the approaching Naruto.

**NARUTO**
(Clutching his head as if in pain, voice a distorted snarl)
Why?! Why are you protecting that loser?!

Yashamaru stood firm, his voice soft but unwavering, carrying across the arena.

**YASHAMARU**
Because he is my student.

The simplicity of the answer hung in the air. In the Konoha balcony, Shizune watched, her heart aching.

**SHIZUNE** (Thinking to herself)
He’s never known that. Naruto has never felt the kind of selfless affection that man is showing for his student.

Hayate Gekko, seeing the imminent threat of a murder, stepped forward, his hand on his sword.

**HAYATE**
The match is—

But before he could finish, Naruto let out an inhuman screech of frustration, his chakra flaring violently once more.

Of course. Here is the next scene.

---

### **Scene 65: The Aftermath**

Naruto’s furious advance halted, not from Yashamaru’s defense, but from the movement behind him.

With a wet, ragged gasp, Shira forced himself onto his elbows. His body was a broken mess, every movement clearly agony, but his white, pupil-less eyes were fixed on Naruto with an unwavering, defiant glare. There was no hatred in that gaze. Only a sheer, incomprehensible will to stand.

**NARUTO**
(His voice a confused, angry growl)
Why…? Why are you still moving? You have no reason to hate me… so why…?

He couldn’t understand. In his world, power was born from pain and hatred. This stubborn refusal to fall, born from something else entirely, was alien to him.

**YASHAMARU**
(Without turning, his voice choked with emotion)
Shira, stop! It’s over! The match is over!

But Shira’s body finally gave out, and he collapsed back to the stone floor, unconscious. The last of his strength was spent.

Seeing his student lying broken, the facade of the calm sensei shattered. Yashamaru’s shoulders slumped, and he fell to his knees beside Shira, his hands hovering over the terrible injuries.

**YASHAMARU**
(Whispering, tears finally welling in his eyes)
Oh, no. Shira, what have I done!? Oh Shira, I'm sorry...
This is my fault… I never should have… I pushed you too far… This is my failure…

In the balcony, Gaara stared, a sharp, unfamiliar pain lancing through his own chest. He saw Shira’s broken form and Yashamaru’s devastation. The sight of his only friend in such agony over another student was a confusing, hurtful twist in his gut.

On the Konoha side, Menma and Shiruna let out simultaneous sighs of relief, their postures slumping. Naruto was standing. That was all that mattered.

Medics rushed into the arena, gently moving Yashamaru aside. They quickly assessed Shira, their faces growing graver by the second. One of them, an older, experienced medic from Konoha, looked up at Yashamaru, his expression somber.

**KONOHA MEDIC**
His chakra network is in tatters. The physical trauma from that technique… it’s catastrophic. The damage to his spine and internal organs… I’m sorry. Even if he survives, it’s highly unlikely he will ever be able to function as a shinobi again.

The words landed like a physical blow.

Yashamaru’s eyes widened in horror, the full weight of the consequence crushing him.

**GAARA**
(Screaming from the balcony, his voice raw with an emotion no one had ever heard from him)
THAT’S A LIE!

All eyes turned to him. Gaara was trembling, his fists clenched, his face a mask of furious denial.

**BAKI**
(Placing a firm hand on Gaara’s shoulder)
Gaara. Enough. Control yourself.

Baki’s voice was steady, but his own heart was heavy. He looked down at the arena, at Yashamaru cradling Shira’s head, at the medics preparing the stretcher. He had seen the rise of a unique talent, forged purely from will, and now he was witnessing its end. The cost of the Chunin Exams was becoming a price too steep to bear.

Chapter Text

**INT. TOWER - PRELIMINARY ARENA - DAY**

A heavy silence had fallen after Shira’s devastating defeat and the grim prognosis. The air was thick with unspoken tension, grief, and the lingering, malevolent chakra from Naruto’s transformation. Hayate Gekko, looking more weary than ever, cleared his throat, the sound unnaturally loud in the hush.

**HAYATE**
The final match of the preliminary round will now commence. The participants are Temari of Sunagakure and Kin of Otogakure.

The two kunoichi made their way down. Kin, the last remaining member of Team Dosu, moved with a sharp, nervous energy, her eyes darting between the proctor and her opponent. Temari descended with a calm, measured pace, her face a mask of cool determination, a stark contrast to the emotional turmoil that had just unfolded.

They took their positions.

**HAYATE**
Begin.

Kin didn’t hesitate. Her hands flew through seals. She raised a single bell and rang it.

***Drill Spin Genjutsu!***

The sound waves hit Temari, and the world distorted. The arena floor seemed to warp, the walls twisting into spirals. Kin’s form split into multiple, shimmering afterimages, their mocking laughter echoing from all directions.

Inside the illusion, Temari frowned. She could feel the disorientation, the false sensations trying to mislead her.

*Annoying,* she thought. *I don't have the patience for this.*

Instead of trying to find the real Kin through the genjutsu, she decided on a more direct approach. With a grunt of effort, she swung her massive fan in a wide, powerful, horizontal arc.

***WHOOSH!***

The gale force wind she unleashed was real, and it didn't care about illusions. It tore through the entire arena, disrupting the sound-based chakra and shredding the genjutsu in an instant.

The false images of Kin vanished. The real Kin, who had been sneaking up for a close-range attack, was caught completely off-guard. The brutal gust of wind slammed into her, lifting her off her feet and throwing her hard against the arena wall. She slumped to the ground, dazed and defeated, her bells skittering away across the stone.

The fight had lasted less than ten seconds.

Hayate coughed.

**HAYATE**
The winner is Temari.

Temari calmly closed her fan and slung it back over her shoulder. She hadn't even broken a sweat. It was a clean, efficient, and utterly dominant victory.

With that, the preliminary rounds were over. The finalists for the main event were decided: Gaara, Kankuro, Temari, Menma, Naruto, Shiruna, and Tokubo.

The stage was set for the finals. But the cost of reaching them lay broken on a medic’s stretcher, a stark reminder that the real battles were about more than just victory.

 

**INT. TOWER - MAIN HALL - DAY**

The seven finalists stood in a line before the dais, the air still thick with the aftermath of battle. Kankuro was absent, resting under the care of the medical team. The Third Kazekage observed them, his gaze lingering on Gaara and Temari before sweeping over the Konoha and Oto contestants.

**THIRD KAZEKAGE**
You have survived the preliminaries. You have proven your strength. The final round of the Chunin Exams will be held in one month's time, on a public stage before the Daimyos and the leadership of all participating nations. Use this time to heal, to train, and to prepare. Your performance will not only determine your rank but also the standing of your village.

A month. The word hung in the air, a promise and a threat.

Hayate Gekko stepped forward, a small stack of papers in his hand. He moved down the line, handing one to each finalist.

**HAYATE**
These slips determine your position in the finals bracket. The number you receive corresponds to your match.

He handed a paper to Menma, who glanced at it. **6**.
He moved to Gaara. The boy took the paper, his expression unreadable. **1**.
Tokubo received his. **2**.
Temari unfolded hers. **7**.
Shiruna accepted hers with a calm nod. **5**.
Naruto snatched his, a faint, unsettling smirk on his face as he saw the number. **3**.

With Kankuro absent, the number **4** was assigned to him by default.

A large chakra board flickered to life behind the Kazekage, displaying the tournament bracket that had just been decided:

**Round 1:**
* Match 1: Gaara (1) vs. Tokubo (2)
* Match 2: Naruto (3) vs. Kankuro (4)
* Match 3: Shiruna (5) vs. Menma (6)
* Match 4: Temari (7) — Bye (Advances directly to next round)

A wave of reactions passed through the finalists.

Naruto’s smirk widened into a sharp-toothed grin as he looked toward the exit, as if he could see through the walls to where Kankuro was recovering.

**NARUTO**
(To himself)
The puppet freak… Good. I’ll get to break his toys myself.

Menma, however, scowled, clicking his tongue in irritation.

**MENMA**
Tch. An extra fight. He looked at Temari, then at his sister, Shiruna. To face my own sister, I first have to waste energy on his.

He didn't see Temari as a threat, but as an inconvenient obstacle.

Gaara simply stared at the bracket, his fist tightening around the paper marked "1". His path was clear. First Tokubo. Then… he looked across at Naruto. Then the one who insulted Yashamaru.

The stage was set. One month until the entire shinobi world would watch their destinies unfold.

 

**EXT. TSUKEMEN SHOP - SUNGAKURE - NIGHT**

The familiar stall was a small island of calm after the storm of the exams. Gaara, Temari, and Baki sat on stools, the steam from their bowls rising into the cool night air. The silence was heavy, broken only by the sound of slurping.

**BAKI**
(Setting his chopsticks down)
Gaara. You need to be prepared. Your first opponent is Tokubo. He is Yashamaru’s student, and his clan’s dojutsu allows him to see chakra pathways and density. He will analyze your every move.

Gaara nodded slowly, his brow furrowed. He poked at his noodles with his chopsticks.

**GAARA**
My power… it was blocked. During the fight with Zaku. The red-haired kunoichi from the forest… she put a seal on me.

**TEMARI**
(Shaking her head, her voice firm)
She wasn’t a kunoichi, Gaara. That was a man. His name is Sasori.

Gaara looked up, his confusion evident. "A man? But…"

**BAKI**
His voice was grim.
Temari is correct. I encountered him while I was suppressing the mark on Kankuro. He was disguised as the Oto jonin. He paid us a… visit.

Temari’s eyes widened, a spoonful of noodles halfway to her mouth. "He was here? In the tower?"

Baki gave a single, grave nod. Gaara’s gaze shifted between them, the puzzle pieces not quite fitting.

**GAARA**
Who is he? This Sasori.

Baki took a deep breath, the subject clearly weighty.

**BAKI**
Twenty years ago, he was a legend. A prodigy puppeteer, the Third Kazekage’s personal student. His skill was unparalleled. But he deserted the village for reasons unknown. He is a missing-nin of the highest caliber. Being near him… it’s like standing beside a sleeping whale. You sense the immense, dormant power, and you pray it does not awaken.

Hearing the word "puppeteer," Gaara made the connection.

**GAARA**
He is of Kankuro’s kind.

**BAKI**
There are very few true master puppeteers left in the world. Kankuro is one. Sasori is another. And…

He trailed off, his thought unfinished, but the name hung unspoken in the air between them: *Hiruko*. The man who had massacred Kankuro’s clan. The man Kankuro had sworn to kill.

The mood had soured. They finished their meals in a contemplative silence, the warmth of the food doing little to dispel the chill of the conversation. Baki paid Yamori, and the three of them left, disappearing into the dark streets of Sunagakure.

Inside the stall, Yamori began cleaning the bowls, a slow, methodical process. Once he was sure they were gone, his pleasant customer-service smile melted away, replaced by a cold, calculating smirk.

**YAMORI**
(Muttering to himself)
The puppet master is in play. The jinchuriki is hobbled. The pieces are moving, but the board is unstable. To control the situation… I need to bring in the other players. It’s time to summon Hiruko. And Lord Orochimaru.

He wiped the counter clean, his mind already weaving a web far more complex than any that would be seen in the finals.

 

**INT. SUNGAKURE GUEST QUARTERS - NIGHT**

The Konoha shinobi were settled in a spartan, sand-colored building provided by their hosts. The air inside was tense, a stark contrast to the quiet desert night outside. Shizune stood before her three students, her expression uncharacteristically severe.

**SHIZUNE**
I need to be certain we are all clear on the plan. The final stage is not just an exam. It is the trigger. Do you understand your roles?

**MENMA**
(Coolly)
We attack when Naruto’s match begins. The chaos of the fight will provide the perfect cover.

**SHIRUNA**
(Shifting uncomfortably)
I understand the strategy, Shizune-sensei. But… an invasion? Attacking another hidden village during a ceremony of peace… it feels…

**SHIZUNE**
(Cutting her off, her voice sharp)
Do not waste your sympathy on these Sand "freaks," Shiruna. Twelve years ago, their recklessness is what caused the Nine-Tails to break loose and attack Konoha. Countless innocents died. Our village still bears the scars. This isn't an act of aggression; it's long-overdue retribution.

At the mention of the "demon fox," Naruto, who had been leaning against the wall, stiffened. His jaw tightened.

**SHIZUNE (CONT'D)**
This intelligence is highly classified. Currently, only the Fourth Hokage and the participating Jonin of the village are aware. The element of surprise is our greatest weapon.

The mention of his father, the Fourth Hokage, was the final spark. Naruto’s hands, which had been shoved in his pockets, clenched into white-knuckled fists. A flicker of that same, volatile orange chakra sparked around him for a fraction of a second, causing the lantern in the room to gutter.

Shizune flinched, taking an involuntary step back. She saw the raw, unstable fury in his eyes and was suddenly, deeply unnerved. She was commanding a weapon that was also a boy, and the line between the two was terrifyingly thin.

**NARUTO**
(Voice a low, dangerous whisper)
...I understand perfectly.

The mission was clear. But as Shizune looked at the three siblings—the conflicted Shiruna, the coldly efficient Menma, and the seething Naruto—she wondered if she was controlling the storm or simply standing in its path.

Chapter Text

**EXT. SUNGAKURE OUTSKIRTS - TRAINING GROUNDS - NIGHT**

The moon cast long, skeletal shadows across the rocky training grounds. Shizune observed from a distance as her students moved through sparring drills. Menma and Shiruna flowed through a coordinated taijutsu kata, while Naruto, apart from them, focused his energy into his palm. With a low growl, he slammed a swirling sphere of blue chakra—the Rasengan—into a nearby boulder, pulverizing it into dust and gravel.

A figure approached, his steps silent on the sand. Kabuto adjusted his glasses, the moonlight glinting off the lenses.

**KABUTO**
A formidable display. I trust your team is prepared for tomorrow?

**SHIZUNE**
(Without taking her eyes off her students)
They understand their role. Konoha is prepared.

**KABUTO**
Good. The invasion commences the moment the Uzumaki boy’s match begins. Lord Sasori’s forces will be in position to strike from within. Sunagakure will be caught in a pincer.

Unseen by them, a Suna chunin on perimeter patrol had frozen behind a large rock, his hand clamped over his mouth to stifle a gasp. His eyes were wide with horror. *Invasion? Konoha and Oto?*

Neither Shizune nor Kabuto so much as glanced in his direction. Their silence was more terrifying than any accusation.

**KABUTO**
(Breaking the quiet, his voice casual)
I'll deal with this little pest.

**SHIZUNE**
(Finally turning, a cold look in her eyes)
No. Allow me. Consider it a favor from Konoha to Otogakure. A gesture of goodwill for our… partnership.

The hidden chunin’s blood ran cold. He turned and ran, his feet scrambling desperately against the loose stone, his only thought to warn the Kazekage.

He heard a single, sharp *shunshin* behind him.

Shizune landed in his path, her expression impassive. The medic-nin who had always seemed so mild was gone, replaced by a hunter.

The chunin skidded to a halt, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was a dead man. He knew it. But he had to try.

**SUNA CHUNIN**
You… you won't get away with this!

Shizune didn't answer. She simply raised a hand, a single senbon already poised between her fingers.

The message had been sent. Now, the witness had to be silenced.

 

**EXT. HIDDEN POND - NIGHT**

The Suna chunin’s breath came in ragged gasps. Desperate, he swung his kunai, trying to channel wind chakra into the blade for the Wind Sword Jutsu. But terror made his control sloppy. The chakra flickered and died, the blade whistling harmlessly through the air.

**SHIZUNE**
(Her voice clinically calm)
Your form is off. Your chakra flow is unstable. You must be feeling unwell.

Before he could react, her hand shot out, grabbing his wrist. With a precise, brutal motion, she twisted his arm, the bone snapping with a clean *crack*. The chunin cried out, his kunai falling into the sand.

As he crumpled, Shizune’s other hand was already moving. Blue-white electricity crackled to life in her palm, casting sharp, dancing shadows across her face—the Chidori. She didn't hesitate. The sound of a thousand birds screeching was cut short as she plunged the lightning into his chest.

The body fell to the ground, a wisp of smoke rising from the fatal wound. Shizune stood over him for a moment, her expression unreadable, then turned and vanished back into the night, leaving the corpse to the desert cold.

**EXT. TRAINING POND - SUNGAKURE - NIGHT**

The scene shifted to a rare, tranquil pond nestled within a canyon, a precious source of water in the desert. Baki stood at its edge with Gaara and Temari. The moon reflected on the still, dark water.

**BAKI**
Kankuro’s recovery will take time. Time we do not waste. While he heals, we continue your training.

He gestured to the pond.

**BAKI (CONT'D)**
You remember the tree-climbing exercise in the Land of Waves. It taught you to control your chakra output—to stick. Now, you will learn the opposite. You must learn to repel.

He took a step forward and walked onto the surface of the water as if it were solid ground. He stood there, perfectly balanced.

**BAKI (CONT'D)**
This requires a constant, delicate release of chakra from the soles of your feet. Too little, and you sink. Too much, and you repel the water violently and lose stability. It is the foundation for many high-level techniques and is non-negotiable for any shinobi who wishes to operate in diverse environments.

Temari watched intently, already analyzing the chakra control required. Gaara stared at the water, his usual stoic expression in place, but his mind was working. This was different from the raw power of his sand. This was about finesse, a skill that couldn't be brute-forced.

**BAKI (CONT'D)**
Begin. Do not expect to master it tonight. But by the time the finals arrive, you will walk on water as easily as you walk on sand.

Temari stepped forward first, placing a tentative foot on the surface. It sank slightly before she found her balance, the water rippling around her ankle. Gaara followed, his focus absolute. The sand in his gourd was still, all his attention directed inward, to the flow of chakra he was only just beginning to truly understand.

High above, the stars were cold and clear, witnesses to both a death in the darkness and a lesson on the water.

 

**EXT. TRAINING POND - DAWN**

The night bled into a pale, grey dawn. The surface of the pond was a chaotic mess of splashes and ripples. Both Temari and Gaara had slipped, fallen, and sunk more times than they could count. Their clothes were soaked, and their chakra reserves were running dangerously low.

**BAKI** (Thinking to himself)
Temari is pushing herself unusually hard. She’s always been disciplined, but this is different. It’s like she’s trying to prove something to herself.

**TEMARI**
(Gasping, pulling herself onto a rock)
This is... completely different from the tree! The water won’t hold still! It’s constantly shifting!

She wrung out her sleeve, shooting a glance at Gaara, who was hauling himself out of the water on the opposite bank, his red hair plastered to his scowling face.

**TEMARI (CONT'D)**
At least I don’t look as miserable as you do.

**GAARA**
(Pouting, his voice a low grumble)
Shut up.

But the taunt seemed to fuel him. He stomped back onto the water, his concentration intensifying. Temari, not to be outdone, did the same.

As the sun finally crested the canyon walls, painting the sky in hues of orange and gold, Temari let out a sharp breath. She took one step, then another, then a third. She was walking. Not perfectly—her steps were careful, measured—but she was moving across the surface without sinking.

**BAKI**
Good. Now, maintain it.

Gaara watched her, his pout deepening into a glare of pure determination. It took him another full hour of relentless, stubborn effort. But finally, as the morning heat began to set in, he too found that perfect, constant chakra release. He took a step, then another, standing firm on the water. A feeling, foreign and warm, spread through his chest. *Accomplishment.*

Suddenly, a dark shadow blotted out the sun.

***CRASH!***

A massive, ten-foot-tall crow plummeted from the sky, landing directly in the center of the pond with the force of a small meteor. The resulting wave was a tsunami, washing over Gaara and Baki and sending them tumbling off their feet into the water.

Gaara surfaced, sputtering, his moment of triumph utterly shattered. His face was a mask of pure, unadulterated rage.

**GAARA**
(Screaming at the colossal bird)
YOU OVERGROWN PIGEON! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!

But Baki was already on his feet, his gaze locked not on the bird, but on the old man who was now standing on the crow’s head, tapping his foot impatiently. It was **Ebizo**, brother of Chiyo, his face wrinkled in a familiar scowl.

**EBIZO**
Honestly, you useless bird! This is your twelfth break! We’ve been flying for one day! My sister’s old tortoise has more stamina than you!

The crow let out a pathetic, groaning squawk.

**CROW**
It’s not my fault! Carrying you and your entire snack collection is hard work! And the desert air is so dry!

Ebizo was about to retort when he finally stopped and looked around, blinking.

**EBIZO**
Oh. We’re here. Sunagakure. Took you long enough.

He hopped off the crow’s head, landing lightly on the surface of the pond as if it were solid glass—a flawless, unconscious display of the very skill Gaara and Temari had just struggled to learn. He completely ignored the soaked and furious genin, his mind already on other matters.

 

**EXT. TRAINING POND - DAY**

Temari stared as the old man casually strolled away across the water as if he owned it.

**TEMARI**
Sensei… who *is* that?

**BAKI**
(Wringing out his headband)
That is Lord Ebizo. He was the Third Kazekage’s sensei. He’s… seventy-two, I believe. And as sharp-tongued as he is powerful.

Gaara, however, was done being in awe. The indignity of being dunked, the interruption of his hard-won success—it overrode any sense of reverence. He sloshed out of the pond, his small form dripping and trembling with fury.

**GAARA**
HEY! OLD GEEZER!

Ebizo, still walking, didn't even turn. His giant crow dissolved in a puff of smoke, summoned away.

**GAARA (CONT'D)**
You can’t just crash your stupid bird and walk away! You owe me! You interrupted my training!

Something in Gaara’s mind, usually so focused on his singular goal, snapped into a new, impulsive track. This man walked on water like it was nothing. He was the Third’s teacher. He was… strong. A different kind of strong from Baki.

Gaara took off after him, his wet sandals slapping against the stone. “Wait!”

**INT. RESTAURANT - LATER**

Ebizo had settled at a small table in a quiet restaurant, calmly sipping a glass of water. The door slid open with a violent *shove*. Gaara stood there, panting slightly, his clothes still damp.

He marched up to the table, his green eyes blazing.

**GAARA**
Train me.

**EBIZO**
Choked on his water, sputtering.
*Cough*! What? Boy, are you sun-sick? Why in the great desert would I do that?

Gaara blinked. The words had come out without his conscious thought. Now that he was asked, he genuinely didn’t have a clear, logical answer. But the desire was there, a raw, instinctual pull.

**GAARA**
I… I don’t know. But you will.

He couldn’t explain it, so he fell back on what he knew: sheer, unrelenting force of will. He planted his hands on the table, leaning forward.

**GAARA (CONT'D)**
You will train me. You will teach me what you know.

**EBIZO**
(Scoffing)
I’m retired. I train birds, not brats. Now scram. You’re ruining my peace.

**GAARA**
No.

He proceeded to pester Ebizo with a relentless, single-minded intensity. He didn't shout anymore, he just stood there, repeating his demand, blocking the light, a stubborn, waterlogged statue of resolve. Minutes ticked by.

Finally, Ebizo slammed his cup down, his patience worn thin.

**EBIZO**
You have the tenacity of a scorpion! Fine! What is your name, you impossible child?!

**GAARA**
I am Gaara of the Desert.

The name landed in the space between them. Ebizo’s irritated scowl vanished, replaced by a look of sharp, sudden recognition. His eyes narrowed, studying the boy’s face, the red hair, the intensity in his eyes. *This is Rasa’s boy. The Jinchuriki.*

A long, heavy silence stretched out. Ebizo leaned back, stroking his chin. The annoyance was gone, replaced by a deep, calculating curiosity. He let out a long, weary sigh that seemed to carry the weight of decades.

**EBIZO**
…Gaara, you said? And you never let go of anything, do you?

**GAARA**
Never.

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched Ebizo’s wrinkled lips.

**EBIZO**
Hmph. A week. I’ll give you one week of my time. Don’t expect me to go easy on you, boy.

He had no idea what he was getting himself into. And for the first time in a long time, neither did Gaara.

 

**EXT. A LARGE OASIS LAKE - DAY**

Ebizo had led Gaara to a vast, secluded oasis, its blue water a stark contrast to the surrounding golden dunes. The old man stood with his arms crossed, observing the boy with a critical eye.

**EBIZO**
Hmph. I’ve been watching you. I don't feel it. The presence I was expecting is… muffled. Dulled. Like a beast in a cage wrapped in blankets.

**GAARA**
(Confused)
What presence?

Ebizo didn't answer. In a movement faster than Gaara could track, the old man’s hand shot out. His fingers, glowing with five distinct chakra natures, pressed against the same spot on Gaara’s back where Sasori had placed his seal.

**EBIZO**
**Five Elements Unseal!**

A shockwave of pure, unadulterated power erupted within Gaara. It was like a dam breaking. The numb, hollow feeling that had plagued him since the Forest of Death vanished, replaced by the familiar, roaring torrent of Shukaku’s chakra, now flowing freely alongside his own. The sand in his gourd stirred with a renewed, vicious life, swirling around him in an eager, protective cloud.

**GAARA**
(Eyes wide with realization)
You… you undid it. You removed what Sasori did.

**EBIZO**
(Wiping his hand dismissively)
A crude piece of work. Now, the real you is present. Good. We can begin. Tell me, boy, what is the most powerful jutsu in your arsenal?

Without hesitation, Gaara answered.

**GAARA**
The Multi Sand Clone Jutsu.

**EBIZO**
Show me.

Gaara brought his hands together. **"Multi Sand Clone Jutsu!"**

In six puffs of swirling sand, six perfect, solid replicas of Gaara materialized around him. All seven Gaaras stood with the same unnerving stillness, their green eyes fixed on Ebizo.

The old man didn't look impressed. He looked… thoughtful. A slow, cunning grin spread across his wrinkled face.

**EBIZO**
An army of one. Interesting. But you use them to swarm an enemy, don't you? A blunt instrument.

He walked in a slow circle, observing the seven identical boys.

**EBIZO (CONT'D)**
But an enemy knows you are the original. They know your clones, while solid, are ultimately disposable. They fight with a fraction of your power and none of your true desperation.

He stopped and pointed a bony finger at the real Gaara.

**EBIZO (CONT'D)**
So, here is your first lesson. You will not be fighting me. You…

His finger swept to encompass the six clones.

**EBIZO (CONT'D)**
...will spar against *yourselves*.

Gaara and all six clones stared, momentarily unified in their confusion.

**EBIZO (CONT'D)**
Your clones know everything you know. They will anticipate your every move, exploit every weakness you are aware of, and show you no mercy. To defeat an enemy who knows you inside and out, you must first learn to surpass yourself. The real one and all the fakes… last one standing wins.

A terrifying, brilliant logic settled over Gaara. This wasn't about power. It was about evolution. He looked at his six copies, and they looked back, their expressions shifting from blankness to a mirror of his own grim determination.

The world’s most brutal game of tag was about to begin.