Shorai didn't remember collapsing onto the bed. When he woke, a sharp pain gripped his body—legs weak, head throbbing with dizziness. He tried to rise, but even the slightest movement sent waves of agony through his muscles.
"Ah…" He exhaled, rolling onto his side. "This… feels like what I read and saw about the Eight Gates' aftermath. Like Lee after fighting Gaara."
He scanned the dim room—sunlight seeping through the blinds, the clock reading 6:00 PM.
Letting go of resistance, he focused inward, slowly circulating chakra. An hour passed before the pain dulled enough to sit up—each motion a battle. He activated the Mystical Palm Technique, guiding healing energy into his frayed nerves and overtaxed organs.
By nightfall, he could breathe freely, though standing still required support.
"The full extent of this kekkei genkai… staggering," he murmured, recalling the sensation. "I can't remember the details—just the feeling. But the aftereffect alone proves my body can't handle it."
He activated the Reality Stone, retrieving the warping's residual knowledge.
"Swift Release, Stage Three: Reaper's Trail?" His eyes widened. "No wonder I'm in such a sorry state. If I hadn't trained since childhood… I'd be dead. The breath itself resonates with intent, fusing wind and lightning into a shielded burst—moving faster than even the Eight Gates could allow."
He trembled—equal parts fear and awe. "The toll is immense. Nerves strained, heart overworked, cells pushed beyond limits. It creates the illusion of time stopping… incredible."
He stared at the scroll on his desk, now inscribed with the technique's mechanics.
"So the fusion of wind and lightning removes friction and enhances reflexes—Shadowless Flight. Then Stage Two, Phantom Step, pushes it further and creates clones mid-movement. But Reaper's Trail? The breath expels air infused with elemental chakra, lightening the body and forming an insulating field—allowing near-instantaneous travel... maybe it's not teleportation, but in practice? At close to mid range? No wasted motion, no pause—just pure speed. If I compare it to Minato's level of mastery... he still thinks before he moves. I don't. My body and mind are one. In a fight… that split-second could mean everything. Thanks to that lag, I believe I can outspeed him in direct close combat!"
He sipped water—two liters gone in seconds. "Water loss, cellular stress, accelerated metabolism… this shortens lifespan. But what if I could sustain it?"
His mind rushed through options and stopped on natural energy. "Sage Mode enhances durability, healing, and chakra efficiency. A small flow could stabilize my body—reduce the strain. But how much would I need? And could I gather it without stillness? It seems a pretty impossible task... Other, besides stones, more realistic options would be stored chakra seals or fats like the Akimichi clan…"
He laughed. "And it all comes back to chakra capacity. The root of everything."
For two days, he rested—training only in Yin control, refining fuinjutsu theory. When he finally stepped outside, his body was ready.
Now that he understood what one part of his inherent affinities could become at its peak, Shorai's motivation flared. He trained relentlessly through the rest of summer, pushing his limits with silent focus.
By the start of the second semester, subtle changes marked his presence. His movements carried a flicker—brief afterimages trailing him during sudden bursts, remnants of wind-enhanced Shunshin. His Lightning Release manifested in sparks dancing across his skin, his hair lifting slightly with chakra flow. Though he couldn't yet shape lightning externally into something as deadly and advanced as Chidori—his reserves were too limited—he could only channel it into short, sharp bursts through his fists or palms, enhancing impact.
His chakra control had sharpened to exceptional levels. He now guided shuriken mid-flight with chakra threads, maintaining precision up to 15 meters. He even infused faint lightning chakra into the threads, delivering a subtle paralyzing jolt on impact—enough to disrupt balance—and making the shuriken seem unnaturally fast.
His Bunshin no Jutsu had stabilized: he could create six clones within a 5-meter radius, or two at 10 meters, each appearing with a soft distortion. He still couldn't maintain a genjutsu-rigged clone without visible instability, but once, during sparring, he successfully left a rigged clone as a substitution—luring an opponent into touching it and triggering a brief illusion. The technique worked, but only if he could bait the strike.
Fuinjutsu remained slow, deliberate. He studied the scrolls Hiruzen gave him with extreme care, attempting to craft a simple storage seal. He failed more than he succeeded—each attempt undone by the tiniest tremor in his hand. But he persisted, understanding that mastery demanded perfection.
His taijutsu had evolved—cleaner, sharper. He could extend chakra from his elbows or knees in thin, slicing bursts, turning strikes into cutting attacks. His reflexes, vision, and speed had all improved, the result of constant elemental integration.
He believed he could now hold his own against a Chunin in taijutsu—unless they used elemental ninjutsu. Gaara remained a troubling unknown. As he walked to class with Naruto chattering beside him, Shorai mentally simulated the fight.
He was confident he could land a hit. But breaking through that sand armor? That would be difficult.
"The explosive chakra punch should work," he murmured. "But my strength still falls short of Tsunade's."
He pushed open the classroom door, already calculating the next step.