[center][color=mediumorchid][b]Sakamoto Isami[/b][/color] [hr][hr][/center] [indent][sup][color=mediumorchid][b]Location: Kusa-Ame Border | Time: 11-12am~ Interaction: Team 7 Uragiri Sakana -- [@Odin] Kajiya Tatsuya -- [@RaijinSlayer], Shinjo Tsubasa -- [@McHaggis], [/b][/color][/sup][/indent] Isami had not been near foolish enough to disregard the words Yogensha had spoken amidst the weeping of the rain: of entering into the world where each step navigated the fine balance between life and death. He had perhaps inwardly winced at the theatre of it all, but aspiring shinobi were intimately familiar with the prospect of death, ever waiting to welcome the young into its unforgiving domain. Even by the standards of his understanding, however, this had been sudden; an inter-village mission from the very onset of their shinobi career. Combined with the seeming dispassion sensei had shown him, it seemed to Isami a terrible portent: [i]what if he was trying to drive them into death to free himself of his burden?[/i] The hour or so of [i]nothingness[/i] had almost convinced Isami of otherwise. Safe, stagnant. He had taken to passing the time staring at the… black of the Uragiri’s eyes, as if he could gleam some hidden knowledge from it. When he considered the possibility that Sakana had noticed (and, summarily, thought all the less of the [i]creepy[/i] genin), he reverted into staring ahead, mind almost vegetative in its blankness. The ruffle and clink of the trader’s barrels were almost so very [i]glorious[/i] a sound. He had narrowed his eyes, as if it were some forbidden technique that would allow him to glimpse upon the inscrutable - yet the shinobi of the Grass had little intention to mask their ill-doings from prying eyes. This, Isami thought he understood, was the most ill-done of shinobi work; shinobi as tyrant, and corrupt oppressor. He seethed from some pit of his being that he felt was not entirely his, infuriated by airily spoken platitudes. And suddenly [i]there[/i], there he was - their sensei within their midst- [i]sensei?[/i] The body flicker, it must have been, yet Isami had scarce noticed even the hint of it. Isami looked on, incredulous, as Sakana engaged the two in verbal warfare, locked in place. He was also capable of the body flicker; [i]should he have moved?[/i] He hadn’t been given the order… but there were [i]two[/i] of them. Was the Uragiri truly so self-assured in his prowess. Time compressed as words were exchanged. Then, it began. Blade, katana. And the other, engaged in his hand-seals. Sakana… was Sakana going to die? The thought drove him, as he expertly wove a short sequence of hand-seals, nerves fading as adrenaline consumed him. The white of papyrus, the black of ink, and the red of Sakamoto stamp flashed as a weapon scroll unfurled, and a Yumi bow unveiled itself, laying in the shadow of a quiver. He notched and pulled, the muscles along his arm almost numbed to the Herculean effort. A single arrow hurtled towards the second jonin.