Fight

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The short walk to the Raikage's office was a familiar path, one he had tread countless times before. Today, the spring sun showered the village with a golden glow, the vibrant colors of Kumo on full display. The quiet rhythm of village life hummed around him, its comforting normality helping to steady his thoughts.

Entering the Raikage's study, he was greeted by the sight of the imposing man behind his desk, engrossed in his reports. He waited patiently for the Raikage to acknowledge his presence, his heart pounding in his chest. The waiting room was suffused with an air of silent anticipation, his father's towering figure casting a long shadow in the sunlit room.

Ryomaru's thoughts began to drift as he waited, slipping into the enigmatic dreams that had been haunting him of late. There was always a face in those dreams, a concealed one, its features obscured by an intricate mask. And the eye, a single, crimson eye that seemed to gaze right into his soul. Its penetrating stare was a chilling vision that lingered even after he woke, its enigma an unsolvable puzzle.

"Ryomaru," A's deep voice echoed around the room, snapping him out of his reverie.

Ryomaru blinked, shaking off the remnants of his unsettling dreams as he stood up, his face calm, his demeanor respectful.

"Follow me," A ordered, his tone stern, his gaze meeting Ryomaru's briefly before he strode out of the room. Ryomaru fell into step behind him, his mind still muddled with the image of the masked figure.

The private training ground was a secluded sanctuary, filled with a variety of equipment designed for rigorous shinobi training. Ryomaru noticed the Raikage leading him towards a quieter part of the yard. The significance of the location wasn't lost on him. They had never trained together before. Today was different.

A surveyed Ryomaru with a critical gaze, the stern lines of his face accentuated by the sunlight filtering through the trees. "Too small, too weak," he pronounced, his words echoing in the tranquil silence of the secluded training ground. Ryomaru's lean and lithe form was indeed a stark contrast to A's mountainous stature, more reminiscent of Miori's delicate elegance than A's brute strength.

A glint of annoyance flickered in A's eyes, his gaze once again scrutinizing Ryomaru. But the young shinobi merely met his gaze unflinchingly, a silent defiance radiating from his ice-blue eyes. A's dismissive remarks did nothing to shake his confidence. He was proud to be Miori's son, to bear her gentleness, her strength, her resilience.

Brushing off A's jabs with a stoic calm, Ryomaru watched as A straightened his massive form, crossing his arms over his broad chest in a posture of arrogant expectation. "Attack me with everything you have," he commanded, his words holding an undercurrent of challenge.

Ryomaru's heart pounded in his chest, a rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He had sparred with many opponents before, but this was different. This was A, the Raikage, a man who bore the weight of an entire village on his mighty shoulders. But he was also the man who treated him with an icy detachment, a man who shared his blood yet was a stranger in so many ways.

Gritting his teeth, Ryomaru took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. He focused his gaze on A, pushing away the stray thoughts that threatened to cloud his mind. He had one goal, one task: to attack the Raikage with all his might.

As he leapt forward, his body moved fluidly, each motion a testament to his rigorous training. His fists clenched tightly, Ryomaru channeled his chakra, his blue eyes glinting with determination. A stood unmoving, his towering figure an impenetrable fortress, his expression impassive. But Ryomaru was not deterred.

His first punch was swift and precise, aimed straight at A's chest. But the Raikage sidestepped his attack with an almost dismissive ease. Ryomaru gritted his teeth, frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior. He wasn't done yet.

He launched into a series of rapid strikes, his small body a blur as he moved with all the speed and agility he could muster. Each punch and kick was deflected with a similar ease by A, but Ryomaru continued, his determination unwavering. The Raikage's strength and size did not intimidate him. He was a shinobi of Kumo, and he would not back down so easily.

With each deflected blow, Ryomaru's frustration mounted. His attacks, swift and precise, were futile against A's daunting form. His small fists, though quick and powerful, could not break through the Raikage's seemingly invincible defense.

But he was a shinobi of the Hidden Cloud, the son of the woman who had fought tooth and nail to protect her heart, her freedom. Ryomaru had a different power, a legacy that did not lie in brute strength, but in the cold, ethereal artistry of ice.

A frigid chill began to dance at the tips of his fingers, as the cold wrath of his mother's lineage awakened. Yuki Clan's Ice Release, a legacy of frost and snow, a power that could shape and control ice at will, called to him. His eyes, once a placid azure, blazed with a frosty resolve, their depth mirroring the ice-covered landscapes of a relentless winter.

"Hyōton: Sensatsu Suishō!" He chanted, channeling his chakra to form thin, sharp needles of ice. They materialized around him, floating in the air like a snow flurry before converging towards A in a deadly hailstorm.

A watched, unperturbed as the icy assault descended upon him. With one swift movement, he gathered his chakra, creating an invisible shield that shattered the needles upon impact, leaving a harmless shower of snow in their wake.

Frustration coursed through Ryomaru, hot and stinging against the coldness of his abilities. But he was far from done. He refused to yield, his determination fuelling his next attack.

"Makyou Hyoushou!" Ryomaru yelled, his chakra creating an array of large mirrors of ice around A. He dashed into one, his form disappearing only to reappear in another mirror. The technique created an illusion of multiple reflections, confusing the enemy about his real position.

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