Naruto: Super Ninja

The Head Monk of the Fire Temple led me through several long corridors until we emerged onto a spacious training ground. How did I know it was meant for sparring? The makiwara training dummies and various exercise machines made it pretty obvious. Monks were actively using them, either training alone or engaging in sparring matches within small circles.

The monks noticed us almost immediately, halting their activities. Their attention was fixed mainly on their leader, who had entered with his hands clasped behind his back. Honestly, he looked like a peacock—not that I'd ever say that out loud. I wasn't in the mood to get smacked. No one paid much attention to me, though. They knew I wasn't someone who made important decisions in their lives.

By the way, where was Jiraiya?

I scanned the area and spotted the Toad Sage perched on a nearby rooftop, watching with great interest. He held a bag of chips in one hand and a drink in the other, its color suspiciously resembling apple juice.

For a moment, he noticed me watching and raised his cup in greeting.

"Sora," Chiriku called out, his voice echoing across the open courtyard. The midday sun cast sharp, angled shadows over the training ground, emphasizing the ring's uneven white lines drawn on the stone floor. Dust swirled in the gentle breeze, and the faint smell of incense lingered from the temple's earlier rituals.

"You have a sparring match—with a guest from Konoha."

"Hai, senior mentor," the young man responded, his tone utterly devoid of enthusiasm.

He moved forward with an almost lazy grace, his robes shifting around his lean frame. Only when he stopped did I notice more details: his right hand rested hidden within a slightly longer sleeve, and whenever a gust of wind caught the fabric, bandages were revealed—wrapped up to the wrist at least. I couldn't tell if they were for support or concealment.

Or maybe it was just injured.

One thing was clear: his stance spoke volumes about his taijutsu skills. The way he stood, weight evenly balanced, reminded me of a coiled spring ready to pounce. Yet his eyes—calm, almost bored—barely glanced my way before flicking to the other monks. He looked like he couldn't care less about this match.

I stepped into the circle, its chalky lines scuffed by countless sparring matches. I nodded to the monk who had guided me here and settled into my own stance, feeling the heat of the stone beneath my sandals.

"The sparring rules are simple," Chiriku began, projecting his voice with practiced authority. "No weapons, no combat techniques, no strikes to the groin or eyes. That's it. Have a good match."

I brought my hands together in a respectful gesture and bowed. The wind stirred my hair, carrying the distant sound of chanting monks from elsewhere in the temple. Sora didn't bother to respond. He stood there, gaze flat, waiting.

Taking half a step back, I readied myself. From behind him, I caught glimpses of onlookers standing in quiet interest—still as statues, save for the occasional flick of a prayer bead.

Sora tilted his head slightly, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features for the first time.

"And what exactly do you plan to do to me, nameless wanderer? Huh?" His voice was harsh, each word laced with challenge. Clearly, he wanted a rise out of me.

If so, it was a weak attempt. I just smiled, focusing on the slight tension in his shoulders—ready for whatever might come next.

"Well, I don't know," I replied, my tone purposely casual. The low murmur of onlookers fell quiet around us, as if they sensed the tension rising. "I know my parents quite well. Do you know yours?"

His eyes widened, just for a heartbeat. Ah… that was definitely a sore spot. I felt a faint gust of wind tug at my clothes, carrying the scent of earth and incense across the courtyard. The dust under my feet seemed to settle in anticipation of what came next.

In the next instant, Sora lunged. His sudden burst of motion stirred the air between us, and the faint scrape of his sandals echoed across the temple grounds. Despite the haste, his attack pattern was something I'd seen before—solid but predictable. I ducked under his straight punch smoothly, feeling a rush of air skim past my cheek. My counterstrike almost flowed from me, like water finding its course.

He reacted well, though, twisting his body so the blow skimmed harmlessly over his shoulder. I had to admit, his footwork was decent—he moved with the kind of practiced agility that hinted at countless drills. He used his momentum to shift to the side, avoiding my follow-up with a neat sidestep.

Not bad, I thought, pivoting to face him again. The scattered handful of watching monks made not a sound, their focus glued to our skirmish.

He pushed off, attempting a quick leap to close the distance again. But his strikes were too obvious. Each punch or kick carried a slight telegraph—tensing of his shoulder or hip—enough for me to see it coming. Blocking his next jab with a firm guard, I paused for the briefest moment, letting him feel the resistance. Sora tried to force my guard aside, but soon realized I wasn't budging.

Frustration sparked in his eyes. He shifted his weight, his muscles coiling, then snapped into a spinning kick. The wind from his leg brushed my face before I sidestepped gracefully, leaving his foot to cut through nothing but empty air.

I flowed into a backward flip, sandals skidding softly on the temple's worn stones as I landed. The lines of the sparring circle blurred slightly under my landing, white chalk staining the edge of my robe. Quickly regaining balance, I raised my head, locking eyes with him. A faint bead of sweat traced its way down his temple—anger or exertion, maybe both.

By now, I had a solid read on how to take him down. The courtyard seemed to hold its breath, as if sensing the rhythm of the fight. Each move of ours kicked up tiny clouds of dust, and my heartbeat was steady, controlled. This wouldn't take long.

Undeterred, Sora launched another attack, this time an unusual combination meant to catch me off guard. But I anticipated his moves, turning them to my advantage. Quickly assessing the situation, I went on the offensive, delivering a series of short, sharp blows to his side, right beneath his right arm. He didn't have time to block.

Sora leaped back, evaluating the damage. For a split second, he lost focus. That was my cue. Closing the distance, I measured each step, eyes locked on his. A fire burned in his gaze—the desire to retaliate. I had a feeling he was about to try something new.

He lunged again. A strike—then another. I sidestepped both with calm precision. Nothing he did worried me. He sped up, pressing in, but I kept evading, refusing to let his fists touch my well-maintained body. I had his technique figured out, and as I dodged, I searched for my opening.

Finding a gap in his defense was easy. The moment I spotted it, the fight shifted. It was as if a veil had lifted—I saw multiple weak points, all prime for exploitation.

Sora attacked again, his eyes calculating, planning his own counter. But it was time to turn the tables. I stepped in close, disrupting his rhythm. He lashed out with his elbow—I simply twisted my torso, dodging with minimal effort. Then, my counterattack: a swift kick.

Sora blocked solidly and moved to counter, but I was already ahead of him.

Bringing in my other leg, I let myself fall, planting one foot and then swinging it downward. At the last second, I reversed the motion—my leg shot up from below. Sora barely had time to react, scrambling to protect his chin.

But my strike was a battering ram. It shattered his guard and smashed into his jaw. The impact launched him several meters into the air.

This was my moment. Before he could recover, I lunged forward, twisting my body mid-air. A powerful kick sent him flying.

Sora hit the ground hard, rolling as he struggled to regain control. He pushed himself up, arms shaking. His left arm buckled, nearly sending him face-first into the stone.

Then, for an instant, I felt it—a strange, dangerous chakra radiating from his right hand. And just as quickly, it vanished. Weird. I need to stay on guard, because it is suspicious.

"The guest wins," Chiriku stated calmly. "Excellent sparring, Sora."

"Tch." That was all Sora muttered. He was already recovering. After gathering his strength, he stood and dusted off his clothes.

"Another sparring match?" Chiriku asked.

"Of course." Sora nodded, shooting me a promising look.

"Then back in the circle," the head monk instructed. "Same rules. Sparring… begin."

This time, Sora didn't speak or rush in. He began circling me in a slow semicircle, like a predator searching for an opening. But that wasn't going to throw me off. If he wanted a chance, he'd have to try harder than that.

To cut down on his pacing, I decided to give him an opportunity—an apparent weakness in my stance, something tempting enough to strike. It was deliberate, a calculated bait. An experienced shinobi wouldn't fall for such an obvious trap. But Sora wasn't an experienced shinobi. Not yet.

As expected, he took it. From there, I simply led him along, forcing him to waste more and more energy.

Sora, without a doubt, had the potential to challenge even chunin-level opponents—his skill was undeniable. But the problem was… mine were even greater.

The match ended with him curled up on the ground, clutching his torso after my fist had slammed into it with considerable force. Definitely not a pleasant experience.

By the third sparring match, he was no longer rushing in, even when I left openings. He had learned his lesson—he wouldn't fall for the same trap twice.

But who said I was just going to stand around and wait? Of course not. I could be proactive too.

I won this sparring match as well—Sora's defense simply wasn't good enough. My strikes were swift and precise, even if they weren't particularly damaging. All I needed was a single decisive blow to break him. Finding the right opportunity wasn't difficult.

The next two matches ended the same way.

"Lord Chiriku," I addressed the head of the Fire Temple, who had been watching our fights the entire time. "Don't you think we should allow the use of some techniques?"

"You want to make things harder for yourself?" Chiriku asked, intrigued. "Very well. Rule update. E-rank techniques are now permitted. All other rules remain the same."

Sora and I stepped into the circle once more. His gaze was sharp—frustrated, almost predatory. Did he really think this rule change would suddenly give him an advantage? Well, let's see. I had techniques that could surprise him too.

"Pain and humiliation await you," he muttered, clenching his fists.

I smirked. "Alright. Just make sure your words don't come back to haunt you. Because so far, you haven't shown me anything impressive. What exactly have you been doing… huh?"

A little provocation. Success.

Sora lunged, fist swinging, his hands wrapped in a strange whitish aura. I dodged effortlessly, letting his strike pass harmlessly by. The air whistled near my ear—it might have hurt if it had landed. But I wasn't exactly a weak opponent either.

With a single burst of movement, I reappeared on the other side of the ring, forcing him to waste precious time. For me, however, this was a perfect opportunity—not just to counter, but to study the monks' martial arts. By prolonging the fight, I could make Sora reveal more of their techniques. Even if they were low-level, they were still worth learning.

Carefully watching his movements, I infused a small amount of natural chakra into my body, enhancing my perception. The results were… interesting.

Sora's techniques weren't extraordinary. They relied on a slight modification of chakra. I didn't fully understand its formation, but as I watched him shape it, it reminded me of elemental jutsu—only instead of an element, this chakra manifested differently. Did all monks use it like this, or were there variations?

The strange chakra coated him like an aura, letting him block attacks without direct contact or strike without physically touching his opponent. Naturally, it had its limitations. But at the moment, I wasn't too concerned about those.

"That's pretty weak," I taunted. "Hah!"

Sora flinched. His composure shattered.

He abandoned all strategy, attacking wildly. His moves turned frantic—chaotic. Instead of aiming at me, he was just punching at the air, wasting energy.

And once he had nothing left to show, I closed the distance.

It was over.

I beat him down systematically, giving him no room to fight back. Exhausted, helpless, he was completely at my mercy. The result? A final blow sent him flying out of the ring, crashing onto his back and rolling painfully across the floor. Again.

"The guest from Konoha wins," Chiriku announced. Sora wasn't even trying to get up—he simply didn't have the strength.

At Chiriku's nod, two monks swiftly lifted their fallen comrade and carried him away—likely to help him recover.

Chiriku turned to me. "Do you want to continue?"

"Of course I do," I replied. "Where else am I going to get an opportunity like this?"

I could feel Jiraiya's approval. He clearly supported my desire to keep training and learning from others.

"Excellent." The senior monk offered a slight smile. "Then I have a strong and worthy sparring partner for you. Sentoki… step into the circle. Please demonstrate to our guest why any shinobi should respect monks."

"Yes." The young man rose calmly. His traditional robes weren't much different from the others, but the long scar running across his shaved head told a different story—one of hard-fought battles.

Sentoki stepped into the circle and folded his hands in a respectful bow, following tradition. No one forced him to, but since this was an official challenge, it would have been wrong not to accept it. I returned the gesture, honoring the customs of sparring.

The monk took a few steps back, rolling his neck slightly as he waited—calm, focused, clearly favoring a defensive stance. I needed to assess him properly, but without enough information, I had to rely on instinct.

"Begin. The same rules as before."

The signal was given, yet… nothing happened.

Sentoki didn't move, didn't attack. He was giving me a chance to evaluate my position—acknowledging me as a serious opponent. And from his composure alone… I had a feeling he was formidable.

I didn't wait.

A quick dash forward, and we clashed in a flurry of blows. Immediately, I realized Sentoki's scar wasn't just for show—he was tough, dangerous, and completely at ease using his own techniques. Every move he made gave me more insight into how the monks harnessed their chakra. I couldn't replicate it yet, at least not at his level, but I could analyze it.

Then, in an instant, a knee strike caught me hard in the gut.

The force nearly knocked the air from my lungs. I had taken hits like this before, so I didn't think it would be that bad. I was wrong. Pain spread through my entire body, forcing me to gasp for breath. I moved fast—far faster than an average chunin—but to my surprise, Sentoki kept up effortlessly. He was faster. Smoother.

And then he countered.

His attacks were precise, relentless, and unlike anything I'd faced before. Every strike landed with refined technique, no wasted movement. This wasn't just a fight—it was an education. I wasn't just learning how monks fought; I was experiencing their style firsthand.

This match was pushing my taijutsu to its limits. I had to rely purely on skill and the smallest amount of natural energy, just barely within acceptable limits. I took hit after hit, forcing myself to improve, adapting little by little.

And yet… it was incredibly difficult. But I wasn't going to stop. Not yet.

"Not bad," the monk said, observing me with a calm, measured gaze. "Perhaps… let me show you what a properly trained monk can do."

I immediately braced myself—this fight was about to get even tougher.

Sentoki glided toward me, his movements impossibly smooth, and delivered a heavy strike. I barely dodged, but he wasn't done. Two strikes came at once, one from each side. Pain shot through my body, but I gritted my teeth and endured it.

Then, in the blink of an eye, he vanished.

Before I could react, a scorching palm strike slammed into my back.

The force sent me flying out of the sparring circle, and for a few moments—everything went black.

My body wouldn't respond properly. That last attack… he had infused it with chakra. And that chakra was dangerous. A wave of exhaustion and crushing weakness hit me all at once. Forcing myself to move, I sat up and exhaled sharply.

"Phew… That was really dangerous."

"Of course," Sentoki replied, his expression neutral.

"The guest from Konoha has lost," Chiriku declared. "The winner is Sentoki."

Scattered applause echoed through the training grounds. The monks had been watching closely, and judging by their expressions, they had enjoyed the match. But there were no more fights after that—I wasn't in any condition to continue. I needed time to recover.

If I had been allowed to use all my techniques… if I had taken off the weights Kiochi-sensei had given me… maybe the outcome would have been different.

Oh well. At least I gained invaluable experience—and some intriguing information.

I wonder… could I recreate the Fire Temple's technique? Something to think about. Hmm.