Chapter 38: A Prelude of Sand and Steel
"Are you Konoha's ninja? You look pathetically weak."
The words, flat and devoid of emotion, came from the red-haired boy, Gaara. He stood with his arms crossed, a massive gourd strapped to his back. His eyes, ringed with dark circles, held a chilling emptiness, a gaze that looked upon the gathered genin not as rivals, but as insignificant insects.
"Who do you think you are?!" someone shouted from the crowd.
The sheer arrogance of the Sand ninja instantly drew the focus of everyone in the courtyard. Even the usually aloof Sasuke Uchiha felt a jolt of alarm, his instincts screaming that this red-haired boy was a genuine threat.
"Hmph. You don't even know the pride of our Sunagakure? How ignorant," sneered Kankuro, the boy in the black robe and face paint. His eyes were sharp and mocking, but when they flickered towards Gaara, they filled with a palpable mix of awe and fear.
"The pride of Suna?" Sasuke stepped forward, his own cool confidence creating a wall against Kankuro's taunts. "You dare to boast so loudly here in the Land of Fire?"
"Hah! I don't see anything impressive about Konoha's shinobi," Kankuro shot back, his voice dripping with contempt. A flicker of killing intent leaked from him as he reached back, the cloth wrappings on his back beginning to loosen.
"Hey, stop! You're not seriously going to use Crow here, are you?" Temari, the kunoichi with the four ponytails, interjected. She looked exasperated, her large fan strapped to her back.
"Arrogant guys like this only understand one language: force!" Kankuro insisted, his fingers twitching, ready to release his puppet.
He was cut off by a voice that was colder and far more deadly than his own.
"Stop, Kankuro. You're embarrassing us."
Gaara's low, monotone voice silenced his brother instantly. "Losing your composure over a petty quarrel is shameful. Have you forgotten why we are in Konoha?"
Kankuro immediately shrank back, his bravado vanishing. "But, Gaara, they started it..."
"Shut up. Or I'll kill you."
The words were spoken without heat, but the sheer, blood-soaked killing intent that radiated from Gaara was overwhelming. A wave of cold dread washed over the courtyard. Genin broke out in cold sweats, their faces paling. Only one person remained utterly unaffected, his expression one of mild, academic interest.
How very interesting, Aizen thought, observing from the sidelines with a faint smile. But ultimately, still weak. To him, this entire confrontation was a trivial squabble, a child's game beneath his notice.
"Let's go. We are not here to waste time on genin of this level," Gaara stated, his contemptuous gaze sweeping over Teams 7 and 8 before he turned to leave.
"Wait!"
Sasuke's voice rang out, sharp and challenging. He couldn't tolerate being dismissed so easily. "A ninja of this level? Let me see your strength for myself!"
With a burst of speed that was indeed impressive for a genin, Sasuke shot forward, his leg aimed in a sweeping kick at Gaara's head.
Gaara didn't even turn. He simply tilted his head slightly, his eyes still looking forward.
Swish.
In the blink of an eye, Gaara's body dissolved into a swirl of sand, reappearing perched on a low branch of a nearby tree. He looked down, his expression one of profound boredom. "With speed like that, you couldn't even touch a single hair on my head."
"Hah! Is he the strongest you have?" Kankuro laughed, emboldened once more. "It seems Konoha's ninja are all talk. What a disappointment."
Sasuke's eyes widened. That speed... it's on par with Kakashi-sensei! "Who are you?" he demanded, his voice tight.
"Suna. Gaara."
The name sent a ripple of shock through the Konoha genin. Whispers erupted. "Gaara! He's the one!" "The biggest dark horse in the exams!" "The one even the Third Hokage warned us about!" Now they understood the source of his arrogance.
"Now that you know, get out of our way," Kankuro barked impatiently.
Sasuke, his pride deeply wounded, tensed to attack again. But before he could move, a new voice spoke, calm and clear, from a place it should not have been.
"Your reflexes are adequate," the voice said, laced with a subtle, cutting disdain. "But such arrogance will only get you killed prematurely."
Gaara's eyes snapped wide open. A chill he had never felt before shot down his spine. He whirled around, sand instinctively rising around him in a protective shell.
Standing directly behind him, on the very same branch, was Aizen Sōsuke. He had appeared like a ghost, without a sound, without a disturbance in the air. From the moment he had decided to move until he stood there, no one had noticed a thing.
Thump.
Before Gaara's sand could fully form, Aizen flicked his finger. It wasn't a powerful blow, but it was perfectly timed and placed. A small, sharp burst of force connected with Gaara's shoulder, knocking him off balance and sending him stumbling from the branch.
Gaara landed awkwardly beside Kankuro and Temari. The three Sand siblings immediately fell into a defensive formation, their full, hostile attention now locked on Aizen.
"You dare to attack Gaara? You have a death wish!" Kankuro snarled, his fists clenched.
"Do not make boasts you cannot uphold," Aizen replied, his smile gentle yet utterly condescending. "It only reveals your own weakness."
In that moment, under the gaze of every genin in the courtyard, the dynamic shifted completely. Aizen stood alone on the branch, looking down at the trio from Suna. He radiated an aura of such effortless superiority, such unshakable control, that it felt less like a genin staring down rivals and more like an elegant emperor observing three insignificant ants. A silent, profound awe settled in the souls of all who witnessed it.