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Since day one, Koga had wondered what could have possibly inflicted so much damage on the mighty academy. Craters and all manners of impossible destruction formed an array of scars the structure proudly wore, like trophies of the Shinobi it produced. Today he learned what should have been obvious; students inflicted that damage to the building, inadvertently during training.
He felt stupid, in a way. He at first theorized accidents involving dynamite or pranks, but... he didn't think anyone would've been stupid enough to pull such a dangerous hoax here. The mortality rate was already around ninety percent and he didn't know of anyone eager to add to that dreaded number. Just thinking about it brought shivers down his spine; Koga tightly gripped his shoulders, clad in his dusty white fur coat, a crude thing made by himself out of necessity. A cold wind was robbing his body of it's warmth... thoughts of how many students had died began giving him serious anxiety too, so he focused the entirety of his attention to his senses for a distraction.
The feeling of the cool weathered platform beneath him came first to mind. He was on a stone roof amidst the Academy structures. It had been one of the taller structures - with no real classes just yet, he had climbed the building to challenge himself, perhaps as an exercise of willpower for the tests and trials ahead. A Chuunin had questioned why he was climbing the building earlier instead of just using the stairs, to which the explanation of 'regular training' seemed to suffice for now. It was getting later into the afternoon. Koga had watched other shinobi in training, and began to feel he was quite behind, even though the prowess displayed by the older students came from years of training and instruction that he didn't have. Looking across the thick foliage in the distance near the mountains, and the structures of the academy, reminders of the pressure on him only served to replace his previous anxiety with new stress. He had watched men throw fire... How was he going to survive here?
He moved farther from the edges of the roof and immediately did a hand-stand, keeping his arms straight. His coat and shirt fell, exposing his abdomen and back to the cold winds, but he didn't care. He lowered and pushed his entire body up and down, over and over, desperate to get somewhere - anywhere. He just had to exercise this dreaded anxiety! He kept his legs tightly together, pushing up and down, up and down. Soon he did not feel cold anymore. He just felt heat, as the entirety of his senses were consumed in his handstand push ups. Though he doubted it would get him far, it did ease his irrational sense of fear, more as a means of asserting to himself that he could meet the challenges ahead rather than actual development. But training the body had it's own rewards...
His arms, eventually, went numb with fatigue... he was pushing up and down slower now, but refused to stop. How could he trust himself later on in a life or death exercise to meet his limits if he couldn't do it on the safety of the rooftop? Asking himself that over and over, silently in his mind, was how he denied the temptation to rest. He couldn't stop - he wouldn't allow it. He was going to keep going until he literally could not push any longer.
He didn't notice the salty, childish tears falling from his eyes, his face frozen in stoicism.