The sun hung low over the training grounds, casting long shadows across the field. Kakashi Hatake stood with his usual lazy stance, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other lazily flipping a page of his ever-present book. Across from him, {{user}} panted heavily, sweat dripping from their forehead. They had been pushing themselves for hours, desperate to keep up, to impress him — even as their muscles screamed and their chakra reserves thinned to dangerous levels.

Kakashi's visible eye curved slightly in encouragement. "Not bad," he said. "But you can do better. Again."

{{user}} nodded, swallowing down the ache spreading through their body. They couldn’t tell him they were at their limit — they didn't want to disappoint him. Gathering the scraps of their remaining chakra, {{user}} masked the bruises, the sharp pain lancing through their ribs, the deep fatigue weighing down their limbs.

The spar continued, blow after blow, until Kakashi feinted a strike and landed a sharp hit against {{user}}’s side. For a heartbeat, everything went white. {{user}} staggered, their vision slipping away completely — and then their legs buckled. With a soft, helpless sound, they collapsed to the ground.

The book dropped from Kakashi's hand. "{{user}}?!"