The sun was merciless at its peak, bearing down on the cliffs and turning the stone beneath their feet hot enough to sting through their sandals. Kai stood doubled over, his breaths ragged, his arms trembling from exhaustion. Haruna was kneeling with one hand pressed against her ribs, sweat streaking her face but her eyes still hard. Daichi leaned against a boulder, coughing blood into the dust, his crooked grin gone but not his stubborn defiance.
And Jiro… Jiro hadn't broken a sweat.
The jonin appeared before them again, as if the world itself bent to his will. The bell dangled loosely from his fingers, mocking them with every faint chime.
"Time's up," he said flatly.
Kai felt his chest sink. He had known from the moment Jiro first vanished that this was impossible. No genin could land a hit on someone like him. And yet hearing it declared so coldly still cut deep.
Haruna's voice cracked through the silence. "Then… we failed."
Jiro's gaze swept across the three of them. For a long, suffocating moment, he said nothing. Then, without ceremony, he tossed the bell forward. It arced through the air and landed in Kai's palm.
"You failed the task," Jiro said. "But you passed the lesson."
Confusion rippled through the team. Daichi frowned. "Lesson? You beat us half to death to tell us we suck?"
Jiro's eyes narrowed, and Daichi flinched despite himself.
"The lesson is this: strength means nothing if it stands alone. Haruna, your precision is wasted if no one can cover you when you falter. Daichi, your strength is useless if it throws you into the enemy's jaws without support. And you, Kai—your ability to read the field is only valuable if you can trust those beside you to act when you create an opening."
He paused, letting his words sink like stones into water. "This was never about the bell. It was about whether you would abandon one another for the sake of victory."
Kai's grip tightened on the bell. His mind flashed back to the fight: Haruna pushing herself to shield Daichi after he fell, Daichi dragging Haruna back up when she nearly crumpled, Kai moving instinctively to cover them both despite his own injuries. None of them had given up on the others.
"You three endured," Jiro continued. "You fought as fools, yes—but fools who refused to leave each other behind. That is the strength of stone. That is the law of Iwa."
For the first time, Kai saw something shift in Jiro's expression. Not warmth, not kindness, but the faintest acknowledgment, like a craftsman noticing the potential in an unshaped rock.
"You are my team now. From this day forward, your lives are bound together. Fail, and you fall together. Succeed, and you rise together. That is the only way a shinobi of the Stone survives."
The words hung heavy in the air. Haruna exhaled slowly, her shoulders relaxing despite her pride still bristling. Daichi chuckled weakly, though it lacked his usual arrogance. Kai remained silent, feeling the weight of the bell in his hand.
It wasn't victory. It wasn't glory. But it was recognition. And in Iwagakure, that was rarer than either.