Sengoku stood over Araki Ryo's gasping, defeated form. He felt a mild sense of disappointment.
No matter how much fighting spirit the boy possessed, the gap in their fundamental abilities had grown too wide. Araki could no longer provide the pressure Sengoku needed to evolve.
After the dismissal bell rang, Sengoku didn't head toward his usual secluded spot in the desert. Instead, he altered his route, navigating the winding corridors of the academy until he reached the training grounds reserved for the upperclassmen.
The atmosphere here was noticeably different. The facilities were heavily worn, and the air was thick with the distinct, ruthless edge typical of Sunagakure's older students. Several teenagers were running through drills, the sharp thwack of shuriken biting deep into wooden targets echoing across the field.
Sengoku's arrival, marked by his standard junior uniform, immediately drew unwanted attention.
A burly student with a sharp buzzcut paused mid-throw. He lowered his hand, eyeing Sengoku with undisguised contempt. "Hey, brat. The playground for the little kids is on the other side. Get lost."
His companion, a lanky, sharp-featured boy, snickered. "Did you lose your way? Hurry up and go back to making sandcastles."
A third boy, noticeably quieter and more observant, merely frowned at Sengoku without speaking.
Sengoku's calm gaze swept over the trio, finally settling on the burly leader. He quickly analyzed the older boy's physique and the kinetic force behind his earlier shuriken throws. He was definitely stronger and faster than Araki, but he lacked the raw, brute strength of Jiro.
He was perfect.
"I'm exactly where I need to be," Sengoku replied, his voice deliberately flat to maximize the insult. "I watched you for a while. Your punches are slow, and your forms are weak. You're just barely adequate enough to serve as my opponents."
"Huh? What did you just say?" The buzzcut boy barked out a harsh laugh, exchanging a look of disbelief with his lanky friend. "A junior brat comes into our yard and talks trash? You've got a death wish!"
The older boy jabbed a thick thumb into his own chest. "The name's Tetsumaru. This is Matsufuji, and that's Kakuda. Against us, you wouldn't survive a single punch. If you've got half a brain, you'll crawl out of here before we teach you some manners."
Sengoku completely ignored the threat. "Who's first?"
The sheer arrogance of the question instantly ignited Tetsumaru's temper. "You're asking for it! Fine, I'll play with you. Matsufuji, Kakuda, stay back. I'll handle this."
Matsufuji chuckled and stepped aside with Kakuda, clearing a space in the center of the training ground.
Tetsumaru cracked his neck, his muscles tensing. Without bothering to adopt a proper stance, he lunged across the distance, throwing a heavy, swinging hook directly at Sengoku's face.
The speed and power were a significant step up from Araki's, but in Sengoku's kinetic vision, the attack was riddled with glaring flaws.
He didn't even need the Puppet Shunshin. Sengoku casually pivoted on his heel, letting the roaring fist sail mere inches past his nose. Simultaneously, his right hand shot out like a viper, clamping onto Tetsumaru's overextended wrist. Sengoku pulled sharply, adding his own momentum to the older boy's charge, and smoothly swept his left foot behind Tetsumaru's ankle.
"Gah!"
Tetsumaru felt his center of gravity vanish. The combined kinetic force violently ripped his legs out from under him. He crashed face-first into the dirt, kicking up a massive plume of sand.
The laughter died in Matsufuji's throat. Kakuda's frown deepened into a scowl of intense concentration.
Coughing up sand, Tetsumaru scrambled to his feet. His face was flushed crimson with a mix of shock and utter humiliation. "You little...! Again!"
He roared and charged a second time. He was more cautious now, launching into a standard taijutsu combination, mixing heavy punches with sweeping kicks.
Sengoku's movements became a masterclass in minimalism. He slipped, ducked, and parried with the absolute minimum effort required. Every time Tetsumaru swung, Sengoku found the opening. He didn't have the physical strength to knock the larger boy out with standard strikes, but he didn't need to. He drove sharp, agonizing jabs into Tetsumaru's joints and nerve clusters, utterly disrupting his rhythm.
Tetsumaru felt like he was fighting a ghost. He had a clear size advantage, but every strike hit empty air, and every counterattack stung like a hornet.
After half a dozen brutal exchanges, Sengoku spotted a massive opening. As Tetsumaru overcommitted on a wide roundhouse kick, Sengoku stepped into his guard and delivered a compact, explosive side-kick directly into the older boy's exposed diaphragm.
Thud.
Tetsumaru let out a choked wheeze. He stumbled backward five paces before his legs gave out, dropping him hard onto his backside. He clutched his stomach, struggling to draw a breath, staring at Sengoku in absolute disbelief.
"This brat..." Matsufuji muttered, all traces of mockery gone. He dropped into a low, ready stance. Beside him, Kakuda did the same.
"Get him together!" Tetsumaru gasped, shame giving way to genuine anger.
Abandoning any pretense of a fair duel, Matsufuji and Kakuda exchanged a quick glance and surged forward. Tetsumaru forced himself up and joined the assault. They were determined to crush this arrogant junior and reclaim their pride, regardless of the numerical advantage.
Facing the three-pronged attack, the cold, dead look in Sengoku's eyes finally shifted. A faint spark of anticipation flickered within them.
He took a sharp breath, driving his chakra down into his meridian network with extreme prejudice.
Swoosh.
Sengoku vanished, leaving behind only a tiny swirl of disturbed dust.
He reappeared instantly, having slid entirely horizontally to the left, smoothly evading Tetsumaru's furious punch and Matsufuji's sweeping kick. The movement carried no physical buildup; it was abrupt, rigid, and completely jarring to look at.
"What?!" Matsufuji yelled, his kick hitting empty air and throwing him dangerously off balance.
Kakuda tried to intercept with a straight punch, but Sengoku's figure blurred again. He shot forward at breakneck speed, but just before colliding with Tetsumaru, his trajectory snapped at a sheer ninety-degree angle. He practically glided around Tetsumaru's blind side.
Instead of a crippling blow, Sengoku delivered a light, controlled chop to the back of Tetsumaru's neck—a silent, chilling indicator that he could have severed the brainstem if he chose to.
Before the senior could react, Sengoku triggered another meridian pulse, sliding backward like a puppet yanked by a string, perfectly avoiding a desperate grappling attempt from Matsufuji.
For the next few minutes, the training ground became a stage for a bizarre, one-sided dance. The three upperclassmen roared and cursed, unleashing a flurry of aggressive strikes, but they couldn't land a single hit. Sengoku darted between them, his Puppet Shunshin defying standard human biomechanics. He zigzagged, stopped on a dime, and exploited every blind spot, periodically delivering light, stinging counterattacks just to remind them he was in control.
But beneath the flawless evasion, Sengoku was feeling the burn.
Sweat beaded on his forehead. The chaotic, multi-directional pulses required to dodge three simultaneous attackers were incinerating his chakra reserves, and a deep, fiery ache was blossoming in his calves and ankles.
Just as Sengoku executed a micro-step to dodge Kakuda's hook, preparing to redirect Matsufuji's momentum right into Tetsumaru's chest—
"Cease."
The voice was quiet, but it sliced through the chaos like a blade.
Sunada Shun stood at the edge of the training ground. No one had seen or heard him approach.
The fight died instantly. It was as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over the three upperclassmen. They snapped to attention, their chests heaving, their faces pale with a sudden, primal dread. They bowed their heads deeply. "Sunada-sensei!"
Sengoku halted, forcing his rapid breathing to slow. He carefully suppressed the turbulent chakra in his legs, ignoring the faint tremors in his muscles, and turned to face the instructor.
Sunada's dead eyes swept over the scuffed dirt, the three humiliated seniors, and finally locked onto Sengoku. His scarred face remained utterly impassive.
"Private brawling," Sunada stated flatly. "Reason."
He didn't care about who started it or who was the victim. He only cared about the logic behind the violation.
Tetsumaru opened his mouth, desperately trying to formulate an excuse, but the words died under Sunada's glacial stare.
Sengoku met the instructor's eyes without flinching. "I required a live combat environment. The juniors can no longer provide adequate pressure. I came here to find whetstones to refine my taijutsu."
He offered no embellishments. He didn't complain about being ganged up on. He simply stated his pragmatic objective.
Sunada stared at Sengoku in silence for a long, suffocating moment. He then shifted his gaze to the three older boys, who were still trembling, too afraid to look up.
The only sound in the yard was the wind whispering over the sand.
Finally, Sunada looked away. He didn't offer a word of praise, nor did he issue a single reprimand or punishment. To him, if the conflict served the purpose of honing a village tool without resulting in permanent damage, it was irrelevant.
"Clean up the yard," Sunada ordered monotonously. He turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the academy as quietly as he had arrived.
The three seniors let out a collective breath they hadn't realized they were holding. "Yes, sensei!" they chorused to his retreating back.
Sengoku stood quietly, analyzing the residual pain in his meridians. The fight had drained nearly half his chakra, and his legs throbbed, but the data he had gathered was invaluable. He had clearly identified the micro-lags and bottlenecks in his Puppet Shunshin when under multi-target pressure. His objective was complete.
As the tension slowly bled out of the air, Tetsumaru rubbed his aching stomach and looked at Sengoku. His expression was a complicated mix of bruised pride, anger, and undeniable awe.
"Hey, brat..." Tetsumaru started, his voice gruff. "What's your name?"
"Sengoku."
"Sengoku..." Tetsumaru repeated, testing the syllables. "Since when did the lower years breed a monster like you? What the hell was that dodging technique?"
Matsufuji chimed in, still looking somewhat shell-shocked. "We couldn't even pin you down. Your movements are completely unnatural. Is that some kind of secret taijutsu?"
"It's just a kinetic application," Sengoku replied vaguely.
Tetsumaru scowled, his pride flaring up again. "Don't get cocky! We underestimated you today. We won't make the same mistake twice!"
Beside him, Kakuda nodded silently, a fierce, competitive fire burning in his eyes.
Sengoku wasn't offended; in fact, this was the exact reaction he was banking on.
"If you want a chance to get your pride back," Sengoku said evenly, turning toward the exit, "I'll be right here, at the same time tomorrow."
He didn't wait for a response. He walked away, his shadow stretching long against the cooling desert sand, leaving the three seniors standing in silence.
Watching Sengoku disappear, Tetsumaru clicked his tongue. He looked at Matsufuji and Kakuda, a grim smirk crossing his face. "...We're coming back tomorrow. There is no way I'm letting a junior get the last word."