Shinji's gaze lingered for a moment on Temari's hand resting on the back of Gaara's chair.
That hand didn't touch Gaara's shoulder. It just rested there, separated by a few centimeters of air.
That was all the protection she, at four and a half years old, could give her younger brother.
Shinji withdrew his gaze and continued the lesson.
As the chalk made its final stroke on the blackboard, he turned around: "That's all for today's class."
The rustle of stationery being packed away filled the classroom. The children stood up, some already impatient to run toward the door.
Shinji was in no hurry to leave, standing by the podium with his head down as he organized his lesson plans.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Temari stand up.
She first helped Gaara put his textbooks into his bag with very gentle movements. Then, she took her brother's hand and led him toward the door.
Gaara kept his head down, following half a step behind her as they passed through the edge of the crowd.
Like two tiny shadows.
Shinji didn't look up. Only after their figures disappeared through the doorway did he raise his eyes, looking in that direction and pausing for a moment.
Then, he continued organizing his lesson plans.
...
A few days later, at the Taijutsu Training Ground.
The wind was strong. Sand poured in through the open doorway, landing on the wooden floor with a faint, granular sound.
Shinji had no classes today and could have stayed in his office.
But he had come to the training ground, standing far off at the edge, watching the children practice.
An occasional inspection by an ordinary teacher wouldn't attract anyone's attention.
His gaze swept through the crowd, finally landing on the very edge of the line.
Temari stood there, holding that Giant Folding Fan which was longer than her forearm. Once, twice, three times.
The fan's ribs were heavy, and her arm was shaking. Something dark red was seeping from the web of her thumb, but she didn't stop.
A few children nearby had already put down their fans and gathered to drink water and chat.
Their gazes swept over Temari and then moved away.
It was the look given to "Monster Gaara's sister": don't provoke her, and don't go near her.
Temari knew what those looks meant, but she continued to lift the fan.
Shinji watched this scene without moving.
He was waiting. Waiting for a moment when walking over wouldn't seem abrupt.
The web of her thumb tore again. Blood flowed down the fan's ribs, and Temari's arm shook even more violently. But she gritted her teeth and didn't stop.
Shinji walked over.
"Temari."
Temari turned her head and was stunned for a moment.
Shinji stood before her, his expression as calm as it was during class:
"Give me the fan."
Temari instinctively wanted to refuse: "Teacher, I haven't finished practicing yet."
Shinji didn't say anything. He raised his hand to support the downward weight of the fan's ribs. It was very light, as if he had only just touched it.
But Temari's arm suddenly stopped shaking.
Shinji pulled the fan from Temari's hand, set it aside, and then crouched down to look her in the eye.
"When your hand is shaking, no amount of practice will help," he said.
Temari looked at him. Shinji's eyes held no scrutiny, no appraisal, none of the things Temari was familiar with; he was just simply looking.
Temari didn't know what to say.
Shinji took out a bandage from his pocket—white and neatly rolled. He lifted Temari's hand and began to wrap it.
The cut on the web of her thumb was still seeping blood. He wrapped it layer by layer with very gentle movements.
Temari kept her head down, watching the hand that was wrapping the bandage for her.
A strange warmth spread from around the wound; it wasn't the coolness of an ointment, but something else.
Her first reaction was that she wanted her brothers to feel this warmth too.
"Teacher," Temari spoke, her voice very small.
"Yes."
"...Could you teach Gaara too?"
Shinji's movements paused for a moment.
It was a very brief pause. Temari didn't notice.
But Shinji heard what was hidden in those words.
He raised his head and looked at Temari.
There was a light in Temari's eyes.
A cautious light that didn't dare to be called hope.
Shinji tied a knot in the bandage.
"...I will," he said.
Temari didn't smile, but her shoulders relaxed slightly—very lightly, very briefly, like wind blowing over the sand.
Shinji stood up: "Coming to practice again tomorrow?"
Temari nodded.
"Does it hurt?"
Temari looked down at her bandaged hand; the web of her thumb was still throbbing with pain. But she was used to it.
"It doesn't hurt," she said.
Shinji looked at her. The wind blew in from the doorway, making her hair even messier.
She stood there, small and thin, with her hand bandaged, saying it didn't hurt.
"It's okay to cry if it hurts," he said.
Temari was stunned for a moment and looked up.
Shinji had already turned and left. The wind blew, carrying sand into the training ground. His back disappeared into the wind and sand.
Temari stood in place, looking in that direction for a long time.
The wind kept blowing. Sand landed on her shoulders and in her hair. She remained motionless.
Then she looked down at her hand.
It's okay to cry if it hurts.
She blinked. Something slid down from the corner of her eye and was quickly dried by the wind.
A few days later, a small figure appeared on the training ground.
It was Gaara.
He stood next to Temari, positioned far to the side.
He kept his head down, his back to everyone, as the sand at his feet slowly flowed out, swirling around his ankles.
A few children were peeking from a distance. Their voices weren't loud, but the wind carried their words over.
"Why did that monster come?"
"Stay away from him..."
Temari's hand tightened around her fan. She wanted to turn around and say something, but before she could speak, she saw a figure walking over from the other side.
Shinji.
He crossed the training ground at a steady pace. He walked all the way up to Gaara and stopped.
"Is your name Gaara?"
Gaara kept his head down, his voice very soft: "...Yes."
"What do you want to learn?"
Gaara raised his head. Those eyes were very empty, and had been for a long time.
But at this moment, something stirred within them.
"...Can I learn?" he asked.
"You can."
"Aren't they... afraid?"
Shinji looked into those eyes.
In Gaara's eyes, which had been as empty as a dry well for a long time, something was moving. Like a small pebble falling into an abyss.
"Are you afraid of yourself?"
Gaara was stunned. He lowered his head, looking at the sand at his feet.
The sand was still flowing in circles, never listening to him. When he woke up at night, it would be all over the room.
"...Yes," he said.
Shinji crouched down to look him in the eye.
"Then learn to control it."
"Can I learn?"
"You can."
Shinji reached out his hand. He didn't grab his hand or pat his head; he just held out his palm, open, in front of him.
"Sand, come here."
At the same time, Shukaku, hidden within Gaara's body, felt a pair of evil eyes; under the steadying pressure of this power, it slowly lowered its head.
The sand at Gaara's feet paused for a moment.
Then, bit by bit, it flowed over. Very slowly, very carefully, as if testing the waters.
It flowed into Shinji's palm, settling there until it filled his hand, then trickled down through his fingers.
The wind was still blowing. But the sand didn't fly about wildly. It just flowed there, quietly.