Chapter 70: CH_3.11 (070)

"You know… you have a tell."

Takuma's eyes widened as the words registered in his mind. He jolted up from the bed— "argh!" —and was punished by the pain stabbing in his ribs. He fell back on the bed and shivered in wait for the hurt to pass.

 "They shouldn't have paired you against Bishop," the freckled brunette sighed, but there was no pity in her tone.

 "I-I have a tell?! What is it?!" Takuma spat as the pain abated. Other than being crippled, having a recognizable tell was the worst thing for a fighter. A 'tell' meant that he was doing something that was giving away his actions, and if the tell was being picked by his opponents, he was practically telling them what he was doing.

Did his opponents pick up on his tell? Was that why he had lost thrice in a row?

The iryo-nin continued packing her duffle bag as she said, "How would I know? I don't watch scrubs like you fight."

Takuma didn't have the time to feel offended. "Then why did you say I have a tell?" he asked as he gingerly sat himself up.

"I heard someone in the passing." She slung the leather bag over her shoulder and glanced at Takuma, "Look, you can stay here if you want, but don't fall asleep because if someone doesn't wake you up, you'll be stuck here because they lock down the place at night," and with that, she headed towards the door.

"Hey, wait! Can we talk, I want to know more," Takuma jumped off the bed and winced as the pain stabbed him.

"No, thanks."

She didn't even look back and walked out of the door.

"I will buy you dinner!" shouted Takuma in a last-ditch effort.

But the echoing footsteps continued to move away— until they stopped. Takuma, who had hung his head, raised his head in surprise as the footsteps moved closer.

The iryo-nin stopped at the room's threshold. "Any place I want?" she asked. 

Takuma nodded immediately. He had savings, and even though they were earmarked for the future, he could make some concessions for today.

The young woman smiled,

"Then let's get going. I'm getting hungry."

———

.

Takuma silently watched the iryo-nin as she conversed with the waitress about the menu. The waitress was uncomfortable looking at Takuma's swollen face, which was in the process of de-inflammation. It was because Hidden Leaf was a shinobi hub that they were even allowed— it had desensitized the civilian public to a level. So, he quickly gave his order and passed on the menu.

Contrary to his expectations, the place the iryo-nin had chosen would make him lose sleep, but it would definitely make his wallet shed weight.

"My name is Takuma," he introduced himself after the waitress left.

"Oh, we are sharing names, are we?" she rested her hand on her palm with the elbow on the table.

"It's uncomfortable if I keep you— hey and you."

She narrowed her eyes briefly before shrugging, "Well, we already know our faces; I guess it doesn't matter. My name is Sango. Thank you for the food."

In the Ring, the fighters were advised not to exchange identities, and any communication they had was to be behind a mask and using their fighter aliases. The only people supposed to know their faces were the Ring employees, such as the medical staff. However, it was openly known that many fighters didn't really heed the advice.

Takuma hadn't revealed his identity to anyone. The only people who knew his face were the medical staff and the guys in the scheduling room who gave him his fight schedule. He hadn't made any efforts to get to know people, nor had anyone approached him.

"Where exactly did you hear that I have a tell?" asked Takuma.

"You fought her… what's her name… Purplewind, yes," Sango snapped her fingers. "It was after your fight— she and her friends were chatting in the bar."

Takuma's eyes thinned. Everyone fought in the Ring for one common reason: to profit from their wins. The Ring, having been run for a long time, the fighters had made themselves familiar with the 'system,' and they had grouped themselves to exchange information to maximize their wins. Takuma didn't know much about how these groups operated, but it definitely involved paying an entry fee and acting in the group's interest. The group, in turn, had connections with the staff and could provide extra benefits to the members.

"By any chance, is Rhinohide part of that group?" asked Takuma, hoping his lingering suspicion would be unfound.

Sango had a wry smile as she nodded.

Takuma closed his eyes and sighed. Rhinohide was the man who he had fought before Purplewind. His suspicion was correct. The group had bribed someone in the scheduling room and had set up their fights against him because they knew they could win.

"Is Bishop also part of that group?" Takuma sighed.

"Hmm, no, Bishop isn't part of the group. He no longer fights actively in the Ring. When he fights," she chuckled, "is for fun, and he always picks opponents that he knows he can beat easily‚ like you" she pumped her brows. "He puts on a show, brings in the crowd, and because of that, they let him do whatever they want."

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Thinking back to it, Takuma now realized why he was bumped to a Friday evening spot. He was used as a prop so that Bishop could entertain the crowd, which he had done with a vicious, one-sided beatdown. Takuma closed his eyes. A group of fighters was apparently targeting him, and the people on the staff put him against a showoff because he wanted to beat someone up.

"Don't feel bad about it, kid," Sango smiled with a hint of sympathy. "Bishop's a chunin who uses the Ring to blow off steam. Your loss was decided before you knew that you were fighting him."

Takuma opened his mouth to express his outrage, but only a resigned sigh came out in the end. The Ring was a place for genin; the fighters were all genin. The moment a shinobi got promoted to the chunin rank, the rewards that were once attractive became unsatisfactory. The promotion was accompanied by a fat pay hike because of the bump in the danger level of the missions. Getting beat in an arena in front of people was no longer an appealing proposition for a chunin.

The lavish food spread arrived. Sango started immediately while Takuma stared at his food with his chopstick lying limply in his hands.

"… Should I join a group?" asked Takuma. If he was being targeted by a group, then joining another group that could protect him seemed like the logical option.

"You can… but they'll take you for everything you got, kid," said Sango as she indulged in the exquisite dishes. "What's your record again?"

"9-7"

"Eh, that's okay-ish, but you're squeaky new. You bring absolutely nothing of value to a group. Most of them won't even look at you, and those who do offer to take you in," Sango chuckled, "will make you their bitch! They'll demand a large cut of your winning when you get paid for their 'effort'. Who knows, some of them might even make you lose fights on purpose."

"So, you're saying that I shouldn't join a group?"

"Hey, hey, hey," Sango raised both her hands as if in surrender, "I'm not telling you to do anything. I'm just telling you what might happen to you. The decision is all yours. It'd be horrible if I told you to do something, then you did it, and didn't like the outcome— I'll still have to heal you after fights, can you imagine what that'd be like? Awful is what it'd be."

It wasn't a surprise that Takuma had no appetite for the rest of the meal in the expensive restaurant.

———

.

Was Takuma a greenhorn to adversity and challenging situations?

No, he was not— if someone dared tell him otherwise, he would shove his hand up their ass and take it out of their mouth.

Was he best at solving those challenging situations?

Given his track record, Takuma would be the first to say he wasn't the best.

So, he turned to the person he thought could help him the most.

"Perhaps it is my age talking, but it doesn't seem that long ago when we used to meet here every day, early in the morning, young Takuma."

Takuma, who had been warming up, greeted his teacher with a smile. He hadn't seen Maruboshi in a minute, but the old shinobi looked like he had picked a wrinkle or two since they had met. He, however, didn't let that make him forget the fact that the old man could wipe the floor with him.

"It's been a while for me," said Takuma, kipping to his feet.

"Let me look at you," Maruboshi made Takuma stand in front of him. He gave Takuma a look down before nodding in satisfaction, "You are growing more and more every time I see you."

Takuma scratched the bandage on his mostly healed nose.

"Now tell me, child, for what have you called me here today?" asked Maruboshi.

Takuma always appreciated how direct Maruboshi could be at times. "I apparently have a tell when I fight," said Takuma. "I need you to help me hammer it out. I've been getting absolutely battered in spars, and they won't tell me what's the tell."

Maruboshi's almost closed eyes widened in a sharp glare. "That's serious, child. Having a tell can be dangerous if it can be spotted and used against you. And from what you said, your tells have been successfully used against you. We will definitely need to work them out, but before that, I will suggest that you change your sparring partners. I do not believe them to be proper people if they won't share your tells with you— what's the use of sparring if not help improve each other."

Takuma didn't know how to reply except to nod. He prayed for his imaginary sparring partners as they had incurred the wrath of his teacher.

Maruboshi took a few steps away from Takuma. He held his hands behind his straightened back. "Come, child; show me how much you have improved," said Maruboshi with a smile. "After that, we will fix you."

Takuma hadn't sparred against Maruboshi since the day before graduation. If there was one yardstick he wanted to measure his progress against, it would be Maruboshi.

He grinned as he assumed his combat stance.

 

 

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