Uchiha Ryosuke stood before the fallen tree, brow furrowed with disappointment.
He had opened the Fifth Gate (Gate of Limit) of the Eight Gates, yet the results fell short of his expectations. At full strength, this was supposed to rival even Might Guy's Sixth Gate. But forget igniting flames like Morning Peacock (Asa Kujaku)—he couldn't even produce a proper air shockwave.
In theory, his physical strength was more than adequate. The problem wasn't raw power—it was technique and understanding.
Air, unlike solid objects, lacked structure. It dissipated too easily. Punching with full strength into open air rarely produced concentrated shockwaves unless very precise control and speed were applied. Getting air to compress into a dense column that surged forward like a projectile… was far harder than it looked.
And the kicker? This wasn't ninjutsu. No chakra manipulation. No elemental affinities. It was pure taijutsu.
This was entirely different from something like Danzo's Wind Release: Vacuum Bullet (Fūton: Shinkūgyoku), which used wind-natured chakra to fire high-pressure air bullets at enemies.
But Morning Peacock, the technique Ryosuke was attempting to replicate, was raw physical force. No chakra. No tricks. Just body over matter. It defied understanding—how could punches generate fire without chakra?
He didn't understand that part yet.
Still, if he couldn't replicate the fire for now, he could at least aim to recreate the shockwave part.
Theoretical musings wouldn't help him now. He needed to test things—through trial and error.
With that, he launched another flurry of punches at the nearby tree. Each fist created a sharp gust of wind, strong enough to knock leaves loose. The area became a swirl of rustling foliage and stirred dust.
Powerful? Yes.
Effective? Not yet.
There were no visible shockwaves. Nothing like the sharp concussive force that made taijutsu deadly at range.
He stopped, panting slightly. His punches were strong enough to move air, but not to compress it into weaponized force. He was still missing something.
"Think," he muttered to himself.
To produce a shockwave, he had to treat air like a physical body—compressing and launching it outward before it could disperse. But air, being mostly oxygen and nitrogen, scattered the moment it was hit. No structure, no cohesion.
That's why previous punches did nothing beyond rustling leaves.
At best, his attacks might ruffle an enemy's hair from a distance.
Then, suddenly—an idea struck him.
What if he could strike faster than the air could react?
If the punch was fast enough, air wouldn't have time to disperse. Instead, it would be violently compressed and forced outward as a wave. That… might work.
Clenching his fists, Ryosuke focused entirely on speed. He gathered strength from his legs, tightened his core, and lashed out with a blazing punch aimed slightly above the tree's base.
CRACK!
The air in front of him warped. The branch he struck didn't just shake—it split down the middle. The bark peeled, and a thin groove marked the trail of the impact.
A shockwave.
He had done it.
Though not perfect, the compressed air had finally formed a visible, tangible force that damaged his target. This was the beginning of true long-range taijutsu.
Excited, Ryosuke followed up with a series of similar strikes.
BOOM!
CRACK!
Two shockwaves shot forth, each battering different parts of the tree, tearing at its branches and splintering bark.
Not every punch produced the effect, though. Some missed the mark—too slow or misaligned.
Disappointed but not discouraged, Ryosuke paused.
He considered another theory—air depletion.
Each time he launched a successful shockwave, he likely drained the air in front of him, reducing the density needed for the next strike. Perhaps the key wasn't just speed, but timing.
Maybe… he needed to wait after each punch.
Let the air stabilize. Let it refill.
He tested the theory—waiting ten seconds between punches.
The result?
Consistent shockwaves.
His success rate spiked, and after several successful strikes, the once-sturdy tree finally groaned and collapsed, kicking up a cloud of dust.
He stood over the fallen trunk, exhilarated.
He had uncovered a hidden truth of taijutsu—something even the academy didn't teach.
Of course, not every punch was a guaranteed success. He still had a lot to learn. But this was progress. Real, tangible, dangerous progress.
Suddenly—
Footsteps.
Two figures emerged from the shadows, alarmed by the commotion.
Both were Uchiha clan members stationed as guards outside the shrine grounds. The noise and destruction had drawn them in, alert and ready for potential intruders.
But as they approached and saw Ryosuke surrounded by shredded bark and toppled trees, awe replaced suspicion.
That power… that pressure… that aura. It was overwhelming.
"Senior," one younger Uchiha whispered to the older one, wide-eyed.
"What's that… monstrous pressure coming from Ryosuke-sama?"
The older Uchiha, a seasoned veteran with grey at his temples, narrowed his eyes.
"You're still young," he said.
"That's a forbidden technique—Hachimon Tonkō. The Eight Gates."
He folded his arms, watching as Ryosuke prepared another blow.
"From the looks of it… he's already opened the fifth or sixth gate. No ordinary shinobi can reach this level—not without years of sacrifice."
The younger one stared, slack-jawed.
"He's that strong…? Even without using Sharingan?"
The elder nodded.
"It seems our Ryosuke-sama is a genius not just in dojutsu, but in taijutsu as well. With strength like this, he's already at—or beyond—Kage level."
The younger one clenched his fists.
"A forbidden technique, huh…? Think I could learn it?"
The elder smirked and shook his head.
"Don't even dream of it. This isn't something most people can master."
"Why not? Is the clan restricting it from us?"
"No. It's just impossibly difficult. Many have trained for decades and failed. The pain, the fatigue, the physical toll… even opening the first gate is torture."
"You'd rather train your Sharingan than push your body to the brink of collapse."
The younger man hesitated, then nodded.
He already had a two-tomoe Sharingan. That alone made him a formidable genin. Why risk life and limb learning something so painful and unreliable?
The elder clapped him on the back.
"Come on. Let's not disturb him further. He's training hard for all of us."
With that, the two silently left, returning to their patrol.
Ryosuke, of course, had sensed them the whole time.
But since they hadn't interrupted or made noise, he ignored them. Instead, he turned to another tree and continued testing his technique, refining his punches with precise intervals.
Minutes turned to an hour.
Each punch pushed his body further. Sweat drenched his clothes. His muscles ached. His breath grew ragged.
And then—it hit him.
His body… was slowing down.
His limbs trembled. His knees threatened to buckle.
The rebound of the Fifth Gate was kicking in.
If he kept going, he risked entering the weakness period—a temporary state of fatigue and vulnerability that came from overusing the gates. It was one of the biggest weaknesses of Eight Gates-style combat.
He had gotten carried away.
With a deep breath, Ryosuke deactivated the technique. The red aura faded, and the pounding in his ears dulled.
The forest fell silent once more.
He sat down cross-legged to rest.
Today had been a productive day.
He hadn't mastered Morning Peacock—but he had found the path forward.
And that was more than enough.
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