Chapter Text
She wraps her hitai-ate around her fist and smiles.
Shikamaru steals a look at his sensei, who’s calling card is chakra trench knives. He wonders if she has altered her hitai-ate in the same manner as sensei. His sensei's brow twitches in recognition but doesn’t comment, eyes trained on the match. Shikamaru returns his attention to the arena, to Ino's opponent. They know almost nothing about her besides the superficial— the baby face curve of her jaw and shining green eyes and audacious pink hair. Together it spells harmless, or appears to. It isn’t enough to dissuade the sheer power that exudes from Team Baki and by extension her. Oashisu's face is painted, contrasting brutally against her dark brown skin. It is foolish to wear flowing robes as a mere genin, but the way she holds herself? It makes her dangerous. He isn't nervous for Ino, though he is hesitant to say this will be an easy match.
The proctor begins the fight. Immediately Ino assaults the arena with a mixture of smoke bombs and exploding tagged tipped kunai. She’s creating space, evaluating— proving once again that the vapid blond act is just that, when it’s advantageous. She doesn’t need him. Shikamaru can’t help but smile. Chōji cheers his shouts vibrating against the walls. As fat clouds of smoke overwhelm the arena Shikamaru licks his lips in anticipation.
The girl, Sakura, hardly dodges Ino’s attacks. She seems to dance rather than dodge, by centimeters, smoke barely deterring her sense of direction.
Ino drills a shot dead on, with a velocity that shocks him— there’s a horrible clang of metal against metal as Sakura deflects the kunai. With Ino’s accuracy it would’ve taken out her eye but she hadn’t flinched. Even without the bird’s eye view the audience has, Shikamaru realizes she never ceased advancing throughout the assault. That is troublesome. "C’mon Ino,” he mutters. The faster she takes this girl out the quicker she’s out of the danger zone. He leans forward, trying to locate his teammate through the thick smoke. Subdued flashes of color is all he can make out.
"Look.” Asuma-sensei nods, indicating Ino's location. He and Chōji follow the direction. Squinting Shikamaru comes to a quick conclusion. She isn’t in great shape— they took a beating from nature and helping out Team Seven, it’s no wonder Ino opted to evade rather than face Sakura head on. Sensei must see his thoughts scrawled on his face because he shakes his head. “No, closer.” He tugs on Shikamaru’s ponytail.
It clicks.
The smoke is clearing and Ino definitely pulled out all the stops. The smoke and kunai’s had been meant to look as if Ino needed to bide her time— her glossy hair, chopped, meticulously scattered across the arena like land mines. The girl, however intimidating and purposeful has strode right into Ino’s trap.
"Last chance Yamanaka.” She calls, grip tightening around her hitai-ate. Shikamaru doesn’t have a chance to laugh, enthralled.
Ino kneels in response, Sakura’s face twists in disgust or disappointment wiped as her robes settle. Her body jerks to a stop. Sapphire blue chakra encases Ino’s fallen locks and creeps up Sakura’s sandals, disappearing beneath her robes. The sheer astonishment on Sakura’s face is comedic. “I was about to say the same,” Ino quips. Shikamaru shoves Chōji in celebration she did that— the crowd murmurs, Ino grins wickedly.
“Your first mistake was underestimating me, not so tough now are you?” She remains kneeling and though she isn’t obvious, Shikamaru recognizes her signs of fatigue. The tightness of her shoulders and her rambling are a dead give away. Ino is all business she brags after, not during. “And what kind of ninja doesn’t notice a haircut?” She palms her hack job. “Don’t bother trying to escape. That’s laced in chakra, honey. You won’t be able to move until I want you to. Minds well give up now,” Ino pauses, tilts her head to the side. “S’alright I’ll do it for you.” Instead of standing, kunai in hand, her hands form her clans hand sign. Their famous jutsu. The air seems to be sucked out of the arena— she really is going all out— body goes limp.
Almost in tandem Sakura’s body goes ramrod straight, eyes glazed over. There is a beat of silence, stretches in filmy anticipation— the puppet master smirks and the gourd carrier’s expression never wavers from the detached blank look.
Her mouth pops open. “I, Oashisu Sa...”
Despite Ino’s loud proclamation her speech tapers off. Shikamaru clutches the railing. She needs to go in for the kill! Enough theatrics! “N— no way!” The wide eye look on Sakura’s face is all Ino except between her shock and the jerky movement of the host's limbs— that must be Sakura. “It’s not going to work,” Ino shouts. She grits teeth, brow furrowing. Next to him Chōji shovels chips into his mouth and Shikamaru can’t blame him. They’ve never seen someone resist a Yamanaka jutsu, not like this.
She doesn’t smile this time. The hitai-ate glitters sharply, a streak of silver, and there is a subsequent thud. Sakura— because Ino knows any damage she sustains in another’s body will transmit to her own— undercuts her jaw. Her cheekbone. Her throat. Repeatedly. And the girl isn’t pulling her punches. She attacks her body as if she is her own enemy, without hesitation.
It’s quick, awful and awe-inspiring all at once, makes his skin crawl— Ino. He cannot differentiate between who’s grunts he hears. Whoever hacks up blood, Ino’s body mirrors the damage. Phantom attacks bruise, split and “Get out of there Ino! Get out!” This is too much. A stupid competition isn’t worth it! Shikamaru’s guts twist. He can’t do anything.
Eruptly the hitai-ate loosens, unwinding like a slip of silk, dripping crimson. Briefly he thinks that Ino has reasserted control. It’s over. Maybe hearing him was what let her wrestle control back, this wasn't all for nothing...
It’s not. Her left hand flies through hand signs, flames licking at her fingertips. Sakura gouges out her eye. No— no, she doesn’t— there is screaming, sizzling flesh— happens between a blink of an eye. Flames lick her fingers and then they curl close and he can almost hear skin and fluid melting! It seems much longer as Asuma-sensei tethers he and Chōji beside him. Sakura holds her head high, as she makes her way to Ino's body. Her lips pinch in pain, bone peeking from behind melted flesh and there’s blood and Ino shakes her head furiously as the girl approaches. And what he's seeing is horrifying. Everything she does to herself... reflects on Ino. Somehow, somewhere, Ino was able to release the jutsu. His gut twists horribly, what will she do because Ino is curled in on herself clutching the wound and hardly elgible and Sakura is getting closer one step at a time, lips curled back into what must be a grin and Ino
“I concede,” she warbles, voice distorted with pain.
The medic nin rushes to repair the burn. Below her eye, at the cusp of her eye socket is a third degree burn— before his eyes, it scars. Raw and angry but the destroyed flesh knits together. Below the third degree burn is a canal of charred flesh with bubbled blisters creeping at the sides, coaxed into a path of dull pink. The medics speak in jargon he can't place, he needs to make sure she's okay, which, yes. They avoid prolonged shock and were able to prevent permanent damage. Then they haul her off to the med bay avoiding fatality and all.
Ino lays in a bed, still beneath the medic’s hands. They had treated her burns on sight, leaving the bruising and lacerations for behind closed doors. Ino blinks rapidly as she’s handed a pocket mirror to inspect their handy work. He wants to look away, give her some semblance of privacy but he needs to see that she's okay.
"We’ll set appointments to treat your injuries. You’re lucky. Your opponent must have been incredibly skilled, a lesser shinobi would have melted your eye out of it’s socket.” The medic takes his leave after writing a prescription, door clicking shut behind him. Ino laughs.
Shikamaru hears the tears in her voice, knows Chōji must too. “Lucky?” She chokes. “My face.” Her wail rakes his nerves like a blunt kunai, spurs a rage as dark as the shadows his clan wields. The physical pain— she’s humiliated, has to be, his teammate isn’t used to losing... and her face was melted. He had thought that girl melted her eye. Scooped it out like it was nothing. Like it wasn't her body that needed to be harmed before Ino's ever could be.
Asuma-sensei pats Ino’s back offering her soothing words. “You heard the medic. A few trips to the hospital and you’re good as new... Ino,” he commands her attention and by extension his and Chōji’s. “Why didn’t you release the jutsu?”
“At first I thought I could gain back control. But then I couldn’t leave, it was like she was holding me there, hitting a wall— I couldn’t get out. I was trying!” She sniffles, gaze becoming distant. “It hurt. All of it.”
Chōji worries his empty chip bag, expression solemn. Shikamaru racks his brain for anything— resisting the Yamanaka jutsu is plausible but he’s never heard of trapping someone within. Maybe her dad would know, but not having answers frustrates him. Asuma-sensei continues comforting Ino with the look in his eye, thinking. Ino swabs her eyes, lips wobbling into a farce of a smile, burns contrasting against her pale skin, and this little act of bravery is what makes Shikamaru decide he hates Sakura no Oashisu.