“Violence isn’t always the answer. But damn, it works.”

— (The Boys)

--

Otis threw it — and this time, the sound of air tearing followed it.

BOOM

The rock hit the ground just in front of the bear — on purpose. Snow erupted in a wall between them.

The bear flinched.

Otis was already charging.

He tackled the beast — both of them falling into the snow, rolling and crashing down into a lower valley. 

(Pic)

It became a blur of white fur and human limbs. Otis wrestled it from behind, arms wrapped around its neck, trying to choke it out — but it bit his forearm, sank its teeth, drawing blood.

He grunted, rolled with it, slammed it onto its back, and pinned it down.

The bear thrashed, roared, snapped its jaws inches from his face.

Otis narrowed his eyes.

“You ruined my rice.”

Then — using every ounce of strength — Otis locked his arms around the bear’s neck and choked it again.

The bear let out a muffled roar, thrashing in the snow, its claws raking the air as it fought against the crushing hold.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

Until finally—

It stilled.

Breathing heavy.

Eyes wide.

And then… they closed.

It was unconscious.

Otis slowly got up, bleeding lightly from one arm, 

He was covered in bruises, breathing hard. Steam puffing from his mouth.

He looked down at the bear, the bear gave a quiet groan and rolled onto its side.

Then whined.

Otis blinked.

“…You lost.”

No response.

He walked forward, grabbed the blanket tangled near the tree, and looked back one last time.

A While Later…

Otis limped back toward the clearing,

Behind him, a giant polar bear dragged its paws across the snow — tied with makeshift bark-rope,

Snowflakes drifted softly.

His coat was ruined. His fish were mostly gone. His arm stung like hell.

But the bear?

It followed now.

Not happily.

But obediently.

Like it understood the rules now.

Otis looked up at the sky, grumbling to himself.

…

The snow had slowed.

Otis trudged back toward the clearing — arm scratched up, coat torn, one eye squinting from a bruise,

Behind him, tied with bark-rope, the white bear limped along, head down like a scolded puppy.

They were near the riverside clearing.

Then—

CRUNCH.

Otis stopped walking.

So did the rope.

He turned his head slowly.

The rope... was slack and the bear was gone.

His eyes narrowed. He looked to the left—

and there it was.

The bear.

The bear was trying — very, very slowly — to tiptoe back into the forest.

On a ten-foot-tall, several-hundred-pound frame, it looked more like a circus act than a stealth mission. Its massive body hunched, claws sinking into the snow.

(Pic)

It glanced over its shoulder at Otis.

Otis didn’t move.

He just sighed.

“Really?”

The bear froze.

Then tried to go faster.

Wrong move.

Otis was already there in two long steps.

He grabbed the bear by its massive back leg like it weighed nothing.

The bear yelped and tried to scramble away—

THUD.

Too late.

Otis dragged it backward across the snow, its paws leaving long trenches in the ground as it flailed helplessly.

“You ruined my hut,” Otis muttered. “You’re staying.”

The bear groaned in protest.

Otis didn’t respond.

He just kept dragging.

Past the stream. Through the broken pul. All the way to where his hut used to be.

He stopped.

Looked at the splintered beams. The scattered crates. The mess.

Then down at the bear.

“Congratulations. You’re helping me rebuild it.”

The bear tried to pretend it didn’t understand.

Otis grabbed a log and dropped it beside the bear with a heavy thud.

Then pointed.

The bear stared at the log.

Otis folded his arms.

“Pick it up.”

A long pause.

The bear let out a groan… and slowly, reluctantly, lifted the log in its front paws.

Otis gave a slow nod.

“Good.”

“Now do that fifty more times.”

***

The next day Konoha Market – Afternoon

Hinata stood quietly at a vegetable stand, holding a bundle of green onions. She glanced toward the meat stall, 

Across from her, Sayuri was grilling the old butcher like he owed her a blood debt.

“I know what day-old smells like, uncle. I’m not paying for a stale meat”

The old man huffed, defeated, handing her cleaner and fresh meat

Sayuri turned just in time to catch a group of academy students whispering excitedly nearby.

“Did you hear? That giant guy—Otis? He’s not a genin. He skipped to chūnin!”

“Seriously?! He didn’t even use a jutsu, I heard he threw a rock from orbit!”

Sayuri froze. Meat in hand.

“Wait. What?!”

She dropped the meat directly into Hinata’s arms and stormed over to the gossiping kids.

“Say that again. Otis did what?”

One of them blinked. “He fought a chūnin. Hit him with a rock from the sky. Knocked him out cold.”

Hinata’s eyes widened. “He… threw it into the sky?”

“Yup! No one even saw him throw it. One second, he’s holding a rock. Next—boom!”

Sayuri turned slowly back to Hinata, who was still holding fish awkwardly against her chest.

“Your crush is a chūnin now,” Sayuri said flatly.

Hinata turned beet red. “I–I don’t have a cr–crush!”

Sayuri smirked and leaned in like a teasing old man. “Uh-huh.”

Hinata pouted. “I just… I just respect his dedication.”

“Mhm.”

Sayuri spun on her heel. 

“Well. Now he’s a chūnin.Guess we’re training harder now.”

She grabbed Hinata’s hand and started marching toward the riverside — still clearly annoyed that Otis hadn’t bothered to tell her about his promotion.

Hinata blinked, stumbling after her.

 “Wait—”

But Sayuri wasn’t slowing down.

***

Outskirts of Konoha, Late Afternoon

The snow crunched beneath their boots.

Sayuri stomped ahead, scarf flapping behind her like a battle flag. Hinata trailed behind, clutching a bag of groceries, face pink from both cold and secondhand embarrassment.

“Chūnin,” Sayuri muttered. “Chūnin. And he didn’t even mention it?”

Hinata nodded silently. “Mm…”

“We train with him. We eat with him. And he skips a whole rank like he’s picking out sandals, and he doesn’t even tell us?”

--

(A/N)

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