Chapter 287: The Will to Fight
Observing the Battle, Malik lounged comfortably against his stack of luxurious pillows, the silken fabric molding to his form as if the heavens themselves had crafted them for his enjoyment. His gold-and-pink eyes flickered softly, reflecting the intensity of the battle before him—two warriors locked in relentless motion, their strikes sharp, their movements deliberate, the training ground echoing with each devastating impact.
Beside him, his Magic Phone, a manifestation of his truest magic, hovered effortlessly, its timer ticking down. Forty-five minutes. That was how long they had been sparring, how long their bodies had endured the strain, how long their focus had remained unbroken.
Even as a non-combatant, Malik couldn't look away. It wasn't simply the clash of fists, the precision of their technique—it was the rawness of it. The unwavering focus. The constant pursuit of something greater.
Sakura was giving it her all.
And Malik knew, with absolute certainty, that her drive wasn't fueled by his presence.
Had he left at the start of the session, had he disappeared into the air and returned hours later, she wouldn't have noticed either way.
Not out of negligence.
Not out of ignorance.
But because her mind, her soul, was completely and utterly locked in her purpose.
And that realization stirred something within him.
A strange, tangled web of emotions—jealousy and pride, intertwined so deeply that he wasn't sure where one ended and the other began.
Jealousy, because the woman he loved with such devotion, such depth, gave her time, her passion, her very essence to something that wasn't him. She poured herself into this training, into every strike, every lesson, every painstaking moment spent forging herself into something stronger.
And pride, because he understood—because he admired her for it. This was what made her magnificent. Her strength wasn't just about power; it was about growth. About drive. About the relentless pursuit of something beyond romance, beyond affection, beyond anything that tethered her to another soul.
She didn't need him.
She had her own purpose, her own ambitions, her own path to carve—and that, that, made her even more beautiful in his eyes.
She was growing.
Strength in might.
Strength in her ability to protect and heal.
Strength in herself.
And Malik? He could only watch, his grip tightening slightly on the edge of his pillow, entranced by the woman who continued to defy expectations—who continued to stand, unwavering, in the face of every challenge.
In this moment, Malik had a quiet thought, one tangled in beauty and pain, in resilience and fragility—a thought of cherry blossoms and thorns.
He let out a low chuckle, the sound barely audible over the steady rhythm of battle unfolding before him. His gaze lingered, fixed on the woman before him—Sakura, fierce and unyielding, her movements sharp, relentless, refined.
"Cherry blossoms are beautiful, sure," he mused, voice rich with quiet amusement. "But damn, they come with thorns."
There was no denying it. The world loved cherry blossoms for their elegance, their delicate petals, their brief but stunning bloom. But it was their thorns—their hidden edges, their quiet, unseen dangers—that made them truly interesting. And Sakura was no different.
His gaze softened as he observed her, watched the way she met each challenge head-on, fists colliding with force, breath steady despite exhaustion. She was fighting—not for him, not for recognition, but for herself. For her own growth, her own strength.
"And I wouldn't want mine any other way."
Then his eyes flickered to Tsunade, the master, the force behind this relentless training. There was something commanding in the way she carried herself—an unwavering presence, a silent demand for greatness. She pushed Sakura, not out of cruelty, not out of indifference, but out of belief. Belief that she could handle it. Belief that she could become something more.
Malik exhaled slowly, voice quieter now, laced with sincerity.
"Thank you," he murmured, just loud enough that the words wouldn't go unheard. "For everything you do. For everything you will do."
He could have said more, could have added reflections, could have given voice to the admiration stirring in his chest.
But instead, he let himself fall into silence, simply watching—allowing the battle, the moment, the growth before him to speak for itself. The Battle Between Student and Master. Sakura lunged forward, her chakra-infused fist streaking through the air, aimed directly for Tsunade's center—her movements sharp, refined, carrying the force of all her training behind them.
Tsunade moved with effortless precision, stepping slightly to the side with practiced ease, her blonde hair whipping behind her as she countered. A palm strike—controlled, deliberate—met Sakura's shoulder. It wasn't meant to hurt. It was meant to test.
Sakura felt the impact, felt the push against her balance. She refused to stumble.
Mid-air, she twisted, body adjusting, eyes flashing with determination, breath steady despite the exertion. She hit the ground and reset instantly, planting her feet, steadying herself.
"Again!" she growled, fists tightening.
Tsunade's lips twitched—not quite a smirk, but something close.
"Good." Her voice was measured, sharp, always instructive. "Your recovery time is faster. But your openings—"
She struck forward—not with brute force, but with precision, delivering a calculated blow that exploited the smallest hesitation Sakura had left in her last movement.
"—Still need work."
Sakura adjusted immediately, processing the flaw and moving faster, faster than before, forcing her body to adapt on instinct rather than thought.
From his seat, Malik watched with growing interest, his fingers brushing against the fabric of his fan, eyes flickering with observation. He could see it happening, see the lesson beneath the fight.
Tsunade isn't just testing her, he thought, leaning forward slightly. She's drilling her instincts. She doesn't want Sakura to think—she wants her to react.
The clash echoed through the training grounds, a sharp crack of flesh against flesh, power meeting power. Sakura's muscles burned, sweat slick against her skin, but her mind was already racing, calculating, adjusting. She couldn't rely on brute force alone—she needed strategy.
She pivoted on her heel, using the momentum to unleash a rapid series of punches, each strike fueled with enough force to shake the earth beneath them. Dust kicked up, the vibrations rolling outward like thunder—but Tsunade was unyielding, her movements practiced, measured, built from years of expertise.
Just as Sakura's fist carved through the air toward her, Tsunade caught her wrist mid-strike, twisting sharply—not to harm, but to force Sakura to follow the motion rather than resist it.
Sakura's body whipped around, the sudden rotation sending her downward—her breath caught for a fraction of a second.
But she didn't fall.
She adapted.
Planting a firm hand against the ground, she flipped herself up with remarkable agility, the momentum carrying her back into position. She landed—closer than before—just a breath away from Tsunade.
And she struck.
Her fist carved forward, connecting—not with full force, not perfectly, but just enough to graze Tsunade's side. Closer. Closer than before.
Tsunade's brown eyes gleamed, and for the first time, approval flickered behind them.
"Better."
Pushing Past Exhaustion, Sakura's breath was heavy, her chest rising and falling in sharp intervals, muscles aching beneath the strain of relentless training. Sweat clung to her skin, dampening her clothes, but she refused to falter. She refused to yield.
Her fingers twitched, heat pooling in her knuckles, the lingering ache of countless strikes reminding her just how much she had pushed herself—and how much further she needed to go.
"Again," she demanded, her voice raw but unyielding, cutting through the charged silence of the battlefield.
Tsunade raised an eyebrow, her arms crossing in practiced ease, standing tall, unimpressed—but watchful. Always watchful.
"And what will you do differently this time?" she asked, her tone light yet pointed, not a dismissal but a challenge.
Sakura tightened her stance, shifting her weight, fingers clenching into fists.
But instead of answering—
She attacked.
No words.
No hesitation.
Just pure movement.
She lunged forward, her chakra-infused fist carving through the air, a streak of power aimed directly at Tsunade's center. Every muscle screamed, every fiber burned, but she moved without thought—just instinct, just the battle itself.
Tsunade's lips curved—not quite a smile, but something close, something laced with approval.
And in an instant, she countered once again.
Malik watched, entranced, the scene unfolding before him like a masterpiece in motion.
He could see it.
Sakura's growth, her power, her unwavering drive.
And for a moment—
He felt nothing but admiration.
Malik's Magic Phone buzzed, the soft chime signaling the end of Sakura's allotted three-hour training session.
Yet, before Malik could even react, Tsunade had already caught Sakura mid-strike, her iron grip wrapping around her wrist effortlessly, stopping the punch as though it had been nothing more than a gentle breeze against her palm.
"Enough," Tsunade said flatly.
And, with one swift movement, she hoisted Sakura over her shoulder, the younger kunoichi so exhausted that she didn't resist in the slightest.
Malik blinked, glancing between the two women, his phone still vibrating softly in his hand.
Had Tsunade even heard the alarm?
Or had she simply known?
Maybe she had counted in her head.
Maybe she could tell from the sun's position.
Maybe she was just that damn good.
"I swear this woman operates on witchcraft," Malik thought to himself, grinning slightly.
Sakura was limp, draped over Tsunade's shoulder like a discarded training dummy, her arms hanging loosely, her breath uneven from exhaustion.
Her pink hair was damp, sticking to her skin, and when she finally opened her mouth—her words came out as a complete mess.
"M'lik… how… I do?"
Tsunade raised an eyebrow, clearly not understanding a single syllable that had just left her student's mouth.
But Malik?
Malik understood perfectly.
He walked forward casually, slipping his Magic Phone back into the void as he approached the two women, his gold-and-pink eyes softening as he looked up at his completely wrecked cherry blossom.
"You did great," Malik answered smoothly, as though her sentence had been the most coherent thing he had ever heard.
Sakura hummed weakly, her head shifting slightly, before mumbling—
"W'ter…"
Malik snapped his fingers, summoning an ice-cold water bottle from thin air, holding it patiently for her as she drank, still dangling over Tsunade's shoulder like an overworked rag doll.
Tsunade watched the entire exchange, her sharp brown eyes narrowing slightly, observing the dynamic between Malik and Sakura with undisguised curiosity.
They understood each other.
Not just in words. But in intent, in silent trust, in the instinctive way Malik responded without hesitation, as though he spoke a language only she understood.
"Ridiculous," Tsunade muttered under her breath, though there was no real irritation in her voice—only a faint sense of acknowledgment.
"Don't heal her," Tsunade ordered firmly, shifting Sakura's weight slightly on her shoulder as she prepared to head back toward the village.
Malik raised an eyebrow, considering it for a moment—after all, he could wipe away every ounce of soreness with just a whisper of his magic.
But he knew what Tsunade meant.
Sakura had earned her exhaustion.
She had pushed herself, had struggled, fought, adapted—and feeling the pain, the weight of her effort, was part of the lesson.
"She'll feel like a thrown rug for a good while," Tsunade continued, her tone sharp but not unkind. "But that's good for her."
Malik grinned, raising his hands in surrender.
"Fine, fine. I won't cheat."
Sakura murmured something else, her voice barely audible, a mix of tired nonsense and fragmented thoughts about her training.
And Malik?
Malik just listened, answering her softly, like he understood every broken syllable perfectly.
Tsunade didn't comment.
But Malik caught the slight twitch of approval in her expression before she turned away, carrying Sakura toward the village—
And leaving Malik grinning to himself, utterly content in the silence that followed.
Shifting the Weight, "Here," Tsunade muttered, adjusting her stance before unceremoniously hoisting Sakura off her shoulder and dumping her onto Malik, who barely had enough time to react before catching her mid-fall.
"Be useful for once in a while," Tsunade added flatly, rolling her shoulders as if shaking off the weight of carrying Sakura all the way from the training field.
Malik blinked.
"Wow, no hesitation," he muttered, glancing down at the exhausted kunoichi now hanging off him like a worn-out towel.
Sakura barely reacted, her limbs completely boneless, her pink hair sticking to her damp skin in the aftermath of her brutal training session.
Malik sighed dramatically, waving his hand—his outer layer of clothes vanishing in an instant, leaving him bare-armed, his fine undershirt clinging lightly to his skin.
His arms were well-muscled, something Tsunade had noticed more than once before but never quite reconciled with his lazy nature.
Because Malik—by all appearances—shouldn't have this level of physical discipline.
She knew he had his moments of true busyness, knew he could be relentlessly efficient when necessary, but still—
"Why do some things just not line up?" Tsunade thought to herself, watching him adjust Sakura effortlessly on his back, carrying her piggyback-style as though it was second nature.
She considered the contradictions, the way he flipped between relaxed playfulness and quiet intensity, the way he shifted between competence and absurdity with a natural ease.
But ultimately, she decided—
"Even a single snowflake can become an avalanche, if it's lucky enough."
And among other rude thoughts about Malik, she was beginning to wonder if he had been a damn lucky snowflake all along.
Malik smirked, turning his head slightly.
"You do realize you just said all of that out loud, right?"
Tsunade didn't even flinch.
"I know."
Malik laughed, shaking his head before focusing on the sticky, overly warm kunoichi currently using his back as a human mattress.
Sakura's breath was slow, her body completely relaxed, but she wasn't fully unconscious.
Not yet.
Because despite her exhaustion, she still had just enough energy for mischief.
Malik felt it before he realized it—the soft nuzzle against his neck, the ticklish sensation of Sakura shifting against his skin, pressing herself closer for warmth.
He twitched slightly, feeling the hot breath, her comfortable weight settled against him, and then—
She bit him.
"Hey!" Malik jumped slightly, his golden eyes widening, instinctively shifting to readjust her grip on his shoulders.
Sakura mumbled something incomprehensible, her gibberish speech more coherent than before, though still just barely making sense.
Malik groaned, sighing heavily.
"Why," he muttered, rolling his eyes, "are you always so damn playful at the weirdest times?"
Sakura did not answer.
She just bit him again.
"Stop that!" Malik huffed, adjusting his stance as he continued carrying her through the trees.
Sakura murmured something else, her voice low and tired, yet strangely content—
And Malik answered her back, like he understood exactly what she was saying.
Tsunade glanced at them, briefly considering the way Malik responded to Sakura's nonsense, his tone steady, even patient, as though he spoke the same language of exhausted gibberish fluently.
It was ridiculous.
And yet—
It made sense.
"They understand each other," Tsunade thought again, watching as Malik casually summoned another ice-cold water bottle, handing it off to Sakura without question.
She barely had to ask—he had already known what she wanted before she did.
This wasn't just romance.
It wasn't just fondness.
It was instinctive connection, an unspoken understanding that neither of them had to try for—
They just had it.
"Ridiculous," Tsunade muttered again, turning away as her mind began to drown in thoughts of paperwork she had to deal with once she got back to her office.
But despite it all—
The walk back was nice.