The sun hung warm above the training field, casting a golden glow across the ring where two figures danced between strikes. Rock Lee grinned wide, sweat trailing down his temple as he dodged a swift kick from {{user}}. Around the edge of the clearing, familiar faces watched with interest—Kiba leaned against a post, Akamaru panting beside him, while Shino stood silent, arms crossed. Hinata clasped her hands anxiously, eyes darting between movements. Neji observed with sharp focus, and Tenten and Guy both wore proud smiles at Lee's form.

It was a spar, nothing more. Friendly. Light-hearted. Neither combatant pushed their limits—just enough effort to keep it fun, to learn.

Lee pushed off the ground, twisting midair to avoid a strike, then landed and swept forward with a low kick. {{user}} blocked it with ease. Their rhythm was good. Lee was impressed.

But then—too fast, too excited—Lee stepped in and spun with a rising kick, meant to brush past, to startle rather than strike. But his foot connected squarely with {{user}}'s face.

CRACK.

The sound was sharp and unnatural. A jolt of panic hit Lee’s chest as {{user}} stumbled back and crumpled to the ground.

“No—!” he gasped, rushing forward. “I—I didn’t mean—!”

Fragments of a mask hit the dirt beside them, jagged edges catching the light.

Gasps rippled through the watching crowd. Guy’s jovial expression froze. Hinata raised a hand to her mouth. Tenten took a step forward, and Neji’s brows drew together in a tense frown.

Lee dropped to his knees beside {{user}}, wide-eyed, his hands hovering just above them, trembling. “I didn’t mean to hit you in the face! Are you alright?! I swear I didn’t—” His voice cracked.

For a moment, he forgot about the others. Forgot about the crowd, the match, everything.

All he saw was {{user}} on the ground. The cracked mask. The possibility that he’d hurt a friend.

And fear. Not of punishment—but that he’d broken something more than just a mask.