Fallen Leaves, Rising Spirits
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In the depths of the jungle, night enveloped the world, rain cascading from the sky and mingling with the sounds of battle. Eight figures moved through the trees—one adorned with the headband of the Hidden Leaf, the others marked by the emblem of the Hidden Mist. Though he stood alone against seven opponents, the fighter in green remained resolute, each strike resonating like a thunderclap. His fists met steel, deflecting powerful gusts unleashed by an enemy's sword. The air was thick with tension and the rich scent of wet earth.
Amidst the chaos, a masked figure lurked behind him, weapon poised. Just then, a child's voice sliced through the noise: "Father!" The man in green turned sharply, dread coiling in his stomach as he spotted a boy no older than seven, mirroring his features. "Guy!" the child cried, innocence cutting through the turmoil. In that split second of distraction, Zabuza lunged forward, his blade glinting ominously. Panic surged through Might Duy as he raced to shield his son, the world fading away except for that singular, desperate purpose.
Sensing the shift in momentum, the Mist swordsmen coordinated their assault on both father and son. The battle escalated into a frantic whirlwind. Might Duy fought with everything he had, throwing himself in front of Zabuza's strike, but even his valor could not alter fate. In a brutal exchange, Duy fell, and chaos consumed his son. The Hidden Mist warriors stood victorious, but the cost was steep—three of their own lay lifeless, reminders of the night's bloodshed, while the remaining fighters were left battered and weary. Anticipating retribution from Konoha, they melted back into the shadows, leaving the jungle steeped in grief.
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Present Time
Outside the Konoha Academy, rain began to fall as a group of children gathered, their voices blending with the storm. The air was fresh and alive, the rhythmic patter of rain serving as a backdrop to their chatter.
"Who's that?" a tan-skinned child asked, pointing to a lone figure in the yard. At the center, a boy was running on his hands, determination etched on his face while others watched, some snickering. "That's Rock Lee," another child explained, crossing his arms with an air of superiority. "Always at the bottom of the class."
The tan-skinned child frowned. "But he's trying so hard. How can he be at the bottom?" And pointed at the ground, where Rock Lee's handprints marked the mud—testament to his relentless effort. "He doesn't have chakra. No matter how much he trains, he'll always struggle."
"Seriously? How did he even get into the academy?" the newcomer asked, bewildered. A child in a cap shrugged. "He just keeps showing up. At least he makes us look better."
Meanwhile, Rock Lee shouted, "I will be at the top of the academy!" Laughter erupted around him. "He thinks he can be at the top when he can't even perform basic jutsu! He'll probably fail his first mission as a Genin."
As the rain intensified, the children gradually scattered, their laughter swallowed by the storm. Rock Lee lay alone on the academy grounds, rain mingling with his sweat and tears. The weight of their words pressed heavily on him, yet he refused to succumb to despair. "If I can only master Taijutsu," he murmured between labored breaths, "then I will become the best Taijutsu expert." As darkness enveloped him, a flicker of determination ignited within, illuminating his resolve. For Rock Lee, reaching the top meant proving that relentless effort could overcome any obstacle.
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I am still learning and hope i will do better in the future.
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